My beloved, she tires of me, and she should—
I'm the inexhaustible song of birds, the fire
of suns that burns the desert, the unending song
of awful poets. My beloved is not persuaded
by litanies of tropes, by schemes or doctrines
designed for effect. I am the air that wears
at the stone and moves the surface of the ocean
in violent storms. My beloved is the land
that's shaped by water, the Mississippi delta
composed of silt. Each day I'm upon the task
of loving her, of remembering her names
and reciting them in succession. The recurring
dreams, recurring images, reiterations
express a moving love that is immutable.
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