I believed in nothing, so I thought
no system of smoke and desire
got in the way of what I saw.
There is another world
if only it could be seen,
slag heaps and golden valleys,
crime and celibacy-
visible companions-if say,
your politics could braid them,
and there were all the gods
in the darkness of our needs.
That was when I realized
that to believe in nothing
is a belief too, and not much fun
either, and acceptance
of the world as it is is as dumb
as standing still when floodwaters rise.
Fortunately in the midst of it all
you came along with your singular beauty,
the truth of things for a while
tactile and unequivocal.
But often when you left the room
a few questions replaced you.
When you returned, they remained.
Is it possible to be in love
and wise at the same time?
In love, I might be so intuitively right
I'd be banned from a republic. In love
I might believe any foolish thing I felt.
Over time, questions formed curlicues
in your hair. They became part of what
I thought when I thought about you.
So good then, when you stayed in the room,
giving them flesh, making them real.
