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BY LOVE BEGUILED
Don't get me wrong.
If I appear distracted,
Look knocked out by the light,
You make a very strong appearance,
A singularity into whose inexplicable
center my mind spins.
I remember once, years ago,
When I landed in New York,
After living a year and half in Europe,
How the neon of America,
It appeared so awesomely garish, and
bright.
Yet, when I close my eyes and picture
it,
All seems pale before the radiance of
your face.
That we, two people, would meet for
morning breakfast,
Look out the café's windows at the
steady rain,
Then, under the cover of our umbrellas,
Walk here and there, along avenues of
inviting store fronts,
Have an early coffee and tea,
Or do I have the hour wrong,
Might the time better be described as
brunch,
Or was it at an hour still later, and
in another place,
In the afternoon, say somewhere on the
Turnpike,
Or when we stopped at a crossroad to
check our map,
At first I thought it might be vapors,
something in the air,
Then I mulled the question over once
again, and figured,
It must have been an electromagnetic
charge, and I wondered,
Had a fluke momentary electricity
overwhelmed us?
Or perhaps it was cupid who stole
Behind fixtures of the thoroughfares?
I thought I had spied him crouched near
a mailbox,
At start of our walk on Main Street in
Point Pleasant!
The winged child pulled from his
quiver, arrows,
Their heads were dipped in love potion,
– My thinking ran to the lines of the
ancient story --
That once he aimed and shot them,
Grievously their tear into our mortal
flesh.
I knew his wound would make for a
ruckus extraordinaire.
I felt that expectations were suddenly
turning great.
This romance presses hard upon me.
I find myself bound up, an affection
drives me
It barks a claim beyond everyday
physical experience.
I am being compelled to express it.
To gain your confidence,
To prove my mind sound, not at loss to
reason,
I couch my verse
In a mood commonly called the
subjunctive.
Though the posing of this frame of mind
Has little usage in today's English,
I try its grammar, or, is it, pretend
to use it, so to temper
My over-wrought emotion and to quiet,
Soften my immodest and elevated
parlance.
Were I not to employ this principle of
language,
One might believe my love for you be
shameless.
The mood, also, provides proper relief
For the all, too-far-out attitude, the
conceit,
Whose command overwhelms all good
sense,
And allows me the audacity to hope
That I have come to possess a gift, as
it were,
That Higher Power had granted me
prophetic mantle.
Understand. I solely express my own
wish and desire,
That all I say remains contingent,
The frame of mind here still
hypothetical and dependent.
I do not use the imperative, I make no
demand.
I have no special outcome in mind.
I dwell in fortress called Zion,
And come from it in the Pilgrims' coat
and hat.
I look in the mirror and see their
collar and tie.
And, like those passengers on board the
Mayflower,
I know the Lord to be my helper. I fear
not.
Who among your former friends has ever
said it better?
And were you to live a long and hearty
life
As all actuaries predict, what future
friend
Might ever phrase it near as well as I
have put it?
And if you ask the source of this lyric
That it arrive, transcending the usual,
Everyday manner and common syntax, I
must rejoin
That Sentiment Supreme, Him, the real
pilot,
That when we drove in the white, Ford
van and crossed
Jersey's North shore highways, while
the soft brown,
Oh that magic, dream-like, living,
pale, ethereal,
And somewhat golden light accented the
downpours,
Whose constant unleashed falling, more
Like rain the Lord had promised Noah,
Than any explicable, temporary
phenomenon of weather.
Wie es eigentlich gewesen.
“The carriage held but just us -- and
immortality.”
That when we traveled our first day
together,
Though it is months ago, and now
becomes the years,
All the time which has passed, I
suggest
That it feels shorter than the day,
that day
I first surmised the engine's mounts
Were tied to point, and that we, too,
were belted, on board,
Hurled straight ahead in solemn league
with Eternity.
Mercy, let it be known, Mercy freely
bestowed,
Not for this, the one earthly moment,
But for our children’s children,
Drawn and signed, and at once
delivered,
A grant for us and them, settled in
this verse,
And from where, you might ask, derives
this trust,
Sure as Word once promised Abraham?
I hear the text my grandmother spoke.
I see her at work when she ironed and
folded,
Yet while she stooped to lay the
laundry
Into the oval wicker basket at her
feet,
And I, the child, I watched her nod the
affirmative nod,
I saw that as she smiled a light had
joined her face,
Today I repeat to you what she said to
me,
“And I will bless them that bless
you,
And curse him that curses you...”
And then the line which revealed,
She told me how the stanza means,
I hear the words my grandmother said,
That in you, I say through you, my
darling, “... in you
“Shall all the families of the earth
be blessed.”