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Poem

To think of it
Why do men accuse themselves of love
Why do we become martyrs without death
Why do I love

Is silence all
The answer I can get for the heart's illusion
The figures and forms that time forgets
The insistence

Moving solemnly
From breast of ice to tongue of fire with desire
For joy, each time surer than the first, each time
Starting again

Why would I love
The changing seasons as I love the indifferent sea
And for the honey hoard the stings of the honey bee
Harvesting pain

To think of it
Love is irrelevant to the existence of special recipients
I love because it is the wave that validates my being
Fragment to whole

It is not who
I choose to love, but why I love that proves love's worth
Love is the purpose of my being, the courage of my birth
The joy to yield

My love for you
Mounts you on the crest of my attention, made you 
The measure that marks my wave and tell its power
To drink with stars

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