[…] These   
poems are as heartless as birdsong, as unmeant   
as elm leaves, which if they love love only   
the wide blue sky and the air and the idea
of elm leaves. Self-love is an ending, she said,   
and not a beginning. Love means love
of the thing sung, not of the song or the singing.   
These poems, she said….
                                       You are, he said,
beautiful.
                That is not love, she said rightly.
  
– from Robert Bringhust’s “These Poems, She Said”  

also from Traci

Leave a Reply