After Rodin
I thought it would be larger
a small world shrouded in this embrace of two lovers. Two lovers
forgotten before the weight of eternal embrace
only here now
for all things that came before and before them, love.
In what sense? Of love made, lost
found again? More like two doves
frightened to flight, gone into gray sky only to return
the same rough bough, alight, flutter of wings in the dark green
lush canopy. You would need the weight of two
hundred doves
to hear the soft cooing remembered in morning light. It is
the impression of memory you hold
like the inside heart of a tree nestled, to embrace.
Even now
I see you there and somehow you feel new.
And the cooing comes as incantation, song we call
the presence shared here now with one another.
I say heart hear heavy. You say light wing flight.
What we cannot say is voice time gone, even as you
hold my hand, whisper into my ear
thoughts of temples, mosques, pyramids
and your warm breath floats
into everything I will call supreme lasting stone.