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sitting down and trying to write a poem about queerness.
certainly, it could go on forever
and change
and be entirely the same.
declare its own names,
and give itself to the world.
certainly, it’s an old poem.
the words are reused
and always new
and vast
and joyous
and fruitful.
certainly, none of us are
able to control
the reckless and fragile
creature of love.
certainly, we all know
that exact creature.
certainly, my poem about queerness is a love poem too:
what a joy
it is to stare into someone’s eyes
just to see them staring back into yours
oh, how blessed
is my flesh
to have come to know
the tender flesh
that’s yours.
what a remarkable thing
to be in love
like wine and music and a soft afternoon.
but my poem on queerness is a poem of giving too.
if not giving, being here.
breathing and bleeding
singing and crying
loving and loving and loving.
my poem on queerness is turning out,
and is breathing on its own.
look, the trees are singing!
the majesty of the pine
spindles for hands
it reaches out forever
and always has enough.
o’ nature, great symphony
the world truly is a song.
and if music be the food of love, play on,
or whatever shakespeare said
500 years ago
about 500 years ago.
it was true then and then,
and now and now.
my poem on queerness knows two things:
we are here to
grow and change,
and reach out in abundance.
and we are here until we aren’t.
but meanwhile
love and time.