Love comes across the field to me, a small bird to land at my feet.
Detail from The Couple, by Louise Bourgeois
It was my work to live through the wound of love.
A child without it, I blindly swam through the murk
to find it. Let me not bore you with psychology.
I could have been born without hands, without tongue.
In the dark I felt for you, my friends, my lovers,
and so often found you only to learn that like heroin
you were merely a door to further longing,
a magnifying lens to set my life on fire. What a blaze.
Now I am old and love comes across the field to me,
a small bird to land at my feet. That does not fear me.