American Love Poem

R.J. Gibson

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.

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