to Y.

I shall give you the unexpected in love.
Not flowers, not restaurant-candled hours, not cards
for special days; nor any looking-back
on old occasion. I shall give you stars,
lightning, a new darkness in the forming.
My girl, be close, be far, and be my love.

I give myself to the world, a molecular storming
such as to weary Venus, to brag for Mars.
Still deep inside me there’s a keeping-track
of the tornadic seeds. A demon guards
me from myself: and I am able to love.

I write: the picture smashes: tiny glass shards
fly up. Girl be warned: this is no mock attack
on the frame-of-things. But it is only glass.
A freshness lies beneath the splinters swarming.
My girl, be close, be far, and be my love.