Version 1

Even the twilight remnant of my youth has faded into old age
Yet still this night has a full moon’s light of shiny new lust
That fountain of youth that sprays up lightly from my husband
Into my dark passage
Night, usually night, brings creaking, bump and grinding, laughing
Love making
Night, usually night, brings whispering, stroking, pressing, resting
Love stretching
Night, usually night, brings touching, turning, snoring, sleeping
Love trusting
Then day comes
And we are old again
(Yet still, even in the old sun’s unkind light,
Giggling, touching, dancing, preening, silly
With new love)

Version 2

Even the twilight remnant of our youth has faded
Yet still
In the young moon’s flattering light, shiny new lust
That fountain of youth that sprays up lightly from my husband
Into my dark passage
Night, usually night, brings creaking, bump and grinding, laughing
Night, usually night, brings whispering, stroking, pressing, resting
Night, usually night, brings touching, turning, snoring, sleeping
Then day comes

And we are old again
Yet still,
In the old sun’s unkind light, shiny new love
That fountain of youth that sprays up lightly from my heart
Into my husband’s dark hollow
Day, usually day, brings giggling, touching, talking, preening
Day, usually day, brings working, lazing, coming, going
Day, usually day, brings smiling, knowing, speaking, feeling
New love

I cannot remember how to think without words
The family mythology is that one evening
Before I was 4 years old
My dad noticed that I could read the newspaper.
I do not remember how to be without words
I live inside words
And yet
In the spaces between words
The spaces that I try to fill with
Unspoken but not unthought words
In those spaces
Lives the feel of Woody’s beard
The shape of Andi’s womb
The drag of my mother’s cane
The smell of farting dog
The heaviness of wet laundry
All the life I love
But I do not know how to live there.

I guess I wrote two poems today, same theme. I just found this, that I scribbled on a scrap of paper while sitting next to my mother, waiting in the pew for Mass to start:

For love He went
Where angels fear to tread
Invading that dark realm
Finding him first
That other one
Who died on a tree
When love died
Scattering hope
Like silver coins
Descending into hell
Where there is no love
Until Love descending
Found him and captured him
Again
Before the uprising

Love comes and goes
Lives and dies
Is born again
Do we call that
Faith
Or baptism
Or resurrection
Love dies again and again
And is born again
Until it isn’t
Do we call ourselves
Believers
Or lovers
Or fools

I think of him
Dying on a tree
The fool
Who hoped too much
Who loved too little
He said
You kissed my dreams
But you betrayed them
So I kissed you
And betrayed you
When my love died
And then I found a tree
And hanged myself

But the other fool
After dying on a tree
The fool
Who hoped enough
Who loved enough
Found him
And said
I came for you
I came for love
Come now
With me
Where there is no faith
Because all is seen
Where there is no hope
Because all is real
But love, oh love
Shining, holding, staying
Love
Is there
Rising forever
With Me