If only, love—if only I could love
a tiny bit more deeply than I’d grieve
in the extreme worst case, I’d be above
peevish paranoias that you might leave,
free to release my passion with abandon!
The trouble is that even bottomless
love can never swallow up grief’s canyon.
Like balanced scales, grief is love’s consequence,
& as my treasuring of you multiplies
day by day, in layers thickening
around your heart, your speaking voice, your mind,
the thought of parting grows more sickening
but I’m far too far, already, to turn back,
so I’m flooring it until I’m out of track.