I did not love him with the sureness, the trueness
of algebra.
I loved him the way the ocean loves the shore:
with swells backing and filling,
reworking the sands, its segments, changing,
the shapes, the temperature
by degrees
with every tide.
I loved him without planning how or when,
love always circling like gulls, spreading
whiteness and darkness.
I loved him without gypsy words, without
the burst of a match.
I loved him like a kite bobbing in the wind,
like a whale floating up mouth open.
I loved stumbling like a drunk.
Like waves blown from far away
in large breakers from distant winds.
I loved like a wanderer who comes upon
a redwood grove
and stops to hold the silence.
