The Something/Nothing Any Love can Tell

The Something/Nothing Any Love can Tell

KristinaMari No Comment

[John Ciardi]

The something/nothing any love can tell,
but no hate hear, what the sad ghost
of a common thought sighs back from any hell
that memorizes in black what was almost
enough out of time in its kept green–
that, as I may, I wish us

I have seen
no reason to think more can be, nor less.
What is not heaven is a respite we can be imperfect in, and still let bless
the ghost of what perfections we can see
in some mind’s eye, this while a mind and eye still name the ghost we see our reasons by.
The daylong dragbreath of the ghostless trek
through marshes outside love, such as it is,
makes every something nothing. The breakneck
swandive into a cup at circuses
of angel aerialists gold billboards blare
makes too much of too little. There and there the trekker ends in quicksand alone
the diver’s act goes wide, once and no more.
But here, by what can stay out of what is gone,
by what may come that never was before–
not till a mercy stirred– what needs and meets
lets start that something nothing still completes.
What does not wish is dead. What does not guess
all wish may come to nothing to nothing wastes its breath.
What treks out it’s numb-numbered singleness

was bor distrustful. and what flings it’s death
from godstarred perches to the watery eye of a trick univers, so needs to die
and it leaves this life still dreaming. I do not
conclude I love you. I awake and find I do, and then conclude the little/lot of loving you is something more than mind can parse a nothing to. And wish us then  your life and mine, til what we are has been.

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