Some things a woman says are bridges
raising grief over happiness.
Once, I could only be satisfied
if she was always there, then just a touch
was enough, then the sound of her voice
and finally just the thought of her.
A face can grip your mind like unrelenting tongs
and wipe out everything else,
like a barrage of hail strafing
your gently swaying fields;
you wouldn’t find fire down a well
or dew on a lightning bolt,
so don’t hope for something more.
(from The God in the Box, Agàpe Publications, 2003)