THE WAR OF LOVE
Of course, I was wounded in the war of love -
and I spent a long time afterward
wandering around the historic spots
of the carpet field
gathering the pink and blue scraps
of our clothing.
It's a miracle to me that someone wasn't killed.
There were scorch marks on the dresser top
and scratches in the woodwork.
The sink was drooling noiselessly
a Drawer was gaping open,
I was careful not to stray too near
the mines where love still ticked away
or guilt lay throbbing, ready to explode.
Of course, it was sad to see the battles ended
and the armistice drawn, penned in blood.
I spent a long time wandering
in the trench of desolation.
It's a miracle to me that someone wasn't
healed.
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