American Love Poem
That this whip could be so swift and clipped
as the syllables of your name. That
each connect of strop and haunch
would blend into song.
That my name — when you say it —
is always simultaneous: always
verb and noun, disavowal
and conciliation, equally. Until
my name — those words for me —
hold you like a hand, your face still.
Bringing us eye to eye.about the author