by Sholeh Wolpé
A paper you can’t read, a bike you can’t pedal
An oil lamp burns in the river of love
Your elbows are thinking, someone‘s drugging the trees
The wind doesn’t care a shiver for love
The crumbs of sunlight, the crumbs of air
The crumbs of everything but the flavor of love
He slashes your nerves, a fast train to God
Nurses you back to say he’s a believer in love
Banished bride in the hills gives birth to random dots
Sings your sing-song name like a cleaver of love
Ashes on a mirror, dreams without hands
No airplane is fueled with the fever of love
A muzzle on an altar, feathers in the clouds
You cross your legs with the quiver of love
No boats till tomorrow, no trains till next week
Mosquitoes lay their eggs in the liver of love
*Photo courtesy lensfodder.