Many Times

        Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
        And the rocks melt wi' the sun,
        And I will love thee still, my dear,
        While the sands o' life shall run.
      Robert Burns

You think, "I have left him now for good."
Be quite clear on this:
There are more ways than one.
A hundred times you will say goodbye to him.
You will leave him many times
And still you will not be finished.

            *

Snow: the red berries
of a barberry hedge,
its ruddy brambles,
the stiff leaves scattered....
But if I say your name
that doesn't mean I need you.

            *

When I yanked off my scarf, the catch broke
of the chain that was your only gift.
I did not lose the stone.
And I will keep it.

            *

This old coat-the pockets are pulled.
The buttons...
You had to learn to let me
undo the buttons of your shirt.
When you undid mind,
I watched your fingers and the red ring.
I kissed it.

Oh, never mind.

            *

Your one bravery was a kiss,
but it was me first
had to declare
the hard love word.
What's bravery women should prize it?

            *

Who is this gold cavalier? He trots.
This dancer? He jangles.
Oh prince of laughter,
unskilled in the tricks of sex,
skill doesn't matter.

            *

Slow slap of low tide.
A waste of shale and bayberry
snagging the moon.
Ah, I have done, I have done!

            *

I drink wine dark as winter night
spangled with ice lights.
From what deep waste of brine
wells your image?

            *

The seas have gone dry.
The rocks have melted into the sea.
The long sands keep shifting.

　

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