January … the divorce come final
but our hearts are no better.
Confused by love, such easy comfort…
ten years, friends.
She genuinely wants to try,
her feelings have come around again.
Simple Norwegian…smooth skin…angular,
Liv Ullman in her cheekbones.
archetypical of what I’d find again
or mourn the difference.
I always think of her as playing games,
manipulating…willing me.
But this time I sense some deeper thread;
childhood falling off …
the passing away of marriage papers
and the cultural ritual… only love remains.
No one could ever touch us, in this lifetime,
as we touch each other.
Vital currents weld our loves together
as our son welds our genes
and all these lovers and months past
only steel the mirrors of our feelings
but cannot erase that clear note we’ve held so long.
I turn so restless against my thoughts.
What can I do with her…
with the love and ease she gives.
My life’s so confused…
I can’t seem to pick my ground.
My lovers…the promises in women’s eyes…
history talking.
Those cold mornings, running…
communion with my peace and anguish.
The ultimate freedom
and simple responsibility of being alone.
What can she offer me… against these?
I love to love her…
sleep with her… see her… touch her.
She doesn’t care for my prowess in anything…
she just loves me.
And now her eyes speak to me
from quite beyond their source
touch me here…
its only my life you trace,
can it matter more?
gallagher
8 Jan 1979
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —