and when the cat had finished drinking
and he had watched that delicate pink tongue
lapping as carefully as any lady
and had wondered whether cats enjoy this patient method
My dearest one: tell me,
why you always return to Me?
Meltdown. A new kettle urgently
required for the gas stove. Men
love an excuse to wander around
the Aladdin’s cave of an ironmongers
hold the camera
as the rose's petals
You put up with it because
as tiresome as it is, and as they can sometimes be,
somewhere there, there's always love.
They seem to be thinking, soft-eyed, snuffling, cropping,
ears awake to many signals,
then move gently closer,
as if they were unaware,
Suppose that in the graveyards of our grief,
so still and silent, frozen by our tears,
those corpses, by some heavenly alchemy
pushed up, not only daisies, but new flowers
To be is to love.
To love is to be.
Roll these life sentences