I listen to you and hear Love saying: Tell me,
What do I sound like?
A creek after 20 days of sun, or 20 days of rain?
An elmwood in summer pecked by a sapsucker?
What do I feel like?
Marshmallows, or silk against your skin?
What do I look like?
Slim or full-bodied?
Do I taste like a chocolate chip cookie, or a peach?
Oh Love, I should say: don’t you worry —
don’t worry about knowing yourself completely.
In every way you are wonderful; yet
in experience, there’s diversity
and the populace would not agree
that they have recognized you, or
on how to do you justice; Otherwise
no person wild or tame would feel incomplete.
Still . . . some try and try hard, Love,
just to be you. And to that, I cheer,
sensing there is no better ambition,
no greater tribute,
no greater knowledge than that.