Why I Love
Why I love him, I have not tongue to say.
More Buddha than Apollo, his masculine charms,
His temperament, March in quicksilver change.
Rather would I tend to loves long since faded,
Like an old Irish widow, dressing their memory
With virtues unearned, with innocence unknown.
But my soul stutters in the caress of his eyes,
His smile lights me like dawn on a summer rose.
In his rare laughter the Seraphim sing and
Every good thing I thought long dead in me
Spawns new roots, explodes new blossoms
Of sweetness, deeper in shade than bloomed
Before. In my heart’s Winter, he plants new Springs.
March 27, 2000