She Is Love

She is love, and all delight
Springs from the lovelight in her eyes,
The which the Lion did devise.
Her laughter, brimming, can't disguise
The lady's heart, and where it lies.

Sorrow, when it comes, is fierce:
The secret fears, that bite so deep,
The horrors in the midst of sleep,
The looming way, that seems so steep
In years, will make the lady weep.

But patience lies in sleep with joy,
As bones lie under the softest flesh.
So love that wells forever fresh
Too great a haste has strength to leash
If wills, and souls, and hearts can mesh.

So let her laugh, and dance her dance,
As long as her feet can find the way
Back to me, and heart does stay.
By moon of night or sun of day
I'll love the lady, while I may.

Passionate, she is a plea:
The lips that kiss, the nails that rake,
Wish to be taken, and to take,
And know for once, without mistake,
That she is love, when love we make.

—San Diego
9/1/1975