This is my lover, but when I cease to love him I will leave him.
This is my lover. For him I am, of an evening, leaf and hymnal.
This is my lover. But when I seize love, certain trees sing off-key.
This is my him. But should I leave love, I will seize the hymning.
This is my hymn. When love is squeezed by law, that is despotism.
This is my law: it is ruddy-leaf love, heady, and shouldered by all.
This: if I want intercourse with one hundred men, so I may have it.
These are my loves: my leeway to think freely, to feel out thought.
This is my lover: it is this her-dominion—my reedy belief-weave.
This is my love: it is how bees dance maps and plants eat the light.
This is love. When I cease using my, seas ease leaves into free fall.
This is my love: this slipping of strings, fringe reef leafing into tree.
This is the love: limbs that slap through the lungs to sycamore out.
This, how love lilacs: I stand arm in arm with every act of my life.
