What was unforeseen is now a bird orbiting this field.
What wasn’t a possibility is present in our arms.
It shall be and it begins with you.
Our often-misunderstood kind of love deems dangerous.
How it frightens and confounds and enrages.
How strange, unfamiliar.
Our love carries all those and the contrary.
It is most incandescent.
So, I vow to be brave.
Clear a path through jungles of shame and doubt and fear.
I’m done with silence. I proclaim.
It shall be and it sings from within.
Truly we are enraptured
With Whitmanesque urge and urgency.
I vow to love in all seasons.
When you’re summer, I’m watermelon balled up in a sky-blue bowl.
When I’m autumn, you’re foliage ablaze in New England.
When in winter, I am the tender scarf of warm mercies.
When in spring, you are the bourgeoning buds.
I vow to love you in all places.
High plains, prairies, hills and lowlands.
In our dream-laden bed,
Cradled in the nest
Of your neck.
Deep in the plum.
It shall be and it flows with you.
We’ll leap over the waters and barbaric rooftops.
You embrace my resilient metropolis.
I adore your nourishing wilderness.
I vow to love you in primal ways.
I vow to love you in infinite forms.
In our separateness and composites.
To dust and stars and the ever after.
Intrepid travelers, lovers, and family
We have arrived.
Look. The bird has come home to roost.
From Threshold (CavanKerry Press, 2017). Copyright © 2017 by Joseph O. Legaspi. Used with the permission of the author.
Tell me no more of minds embracing minds, And hearts exchang'd for hearts; That spirits spirits meet, as winds do winds, And mix their subt'lest parts; That two unbodied essences may kiss, And then like Angels, twist and feel one Bliss. I was that silly thing that once was wrought To practise this thin love; I climb'd from sex to soul, from soul to thought; But thinking there to move, Headlong I rolled from thought to soul, and then From soul I lighted at the sex again. As some strict down-looked men pretend to fast, Who yet in closets eat; So lovers who profess they spririts taste, Feed yet on grosser meat; I know they boast they souls to souls convey, Howe'r they meet, the body is the way. Come, I will undeceive thee, they that tread Those vain aerial ways Are like young heirs and alchemists misled To waste their wealth and days, For searching thus to be for ever rich, They only find a med'cine for the itch.
This poem is in the public domain.