Right away I saw the power of it,
knowing that the loan I made
would never be repaid;
that made me smile—
that secret, quite delicious irony
was mine to keep within my heart.
My sacrifice had just become a gift of love
I didn't even understand.
No loving person would return
remembering, or able to requite;
she acted out of need alone,
a pure divestment of her pride,
and out of need I gave—
not from a love inside,
nor from a hope of heaven,
that pain embraced. It simply
was replaced by mirth.
There is a spring
within the desert's bleak array
that flows with power
to beautify that mendicant
from whom I readily recoil,
and how I thirst!
Love is a sorcerer,
a charmer quite devoid of intellect.
Emotions may be far away,
the strings within a heart untuned
and every day the wind blows cold
across the stony ground—
yet still I smile, a lesser man complete,
beguiled that such a thing as love
has twisted sensibility, and from a tiny throne
far off in space has brought about
a new and wondrous world.