How emphatic are the august lights
And the vial of love that they
Contour themselves together,
Amalgamate, as though to depict
The slow descent of chandeliers
From the high, high balconies
Of cold incandescence, and
In the process, I ask myself
How true love came to be,
Over and over, singly,
From the first of her cries?*

© 2015 J.S.P.