So this is why people sing
And write
And read
And get jobs
And climb mountains
And battle demons
She is why
She and all the she’s
The tact of sweating skin heat
And that little quiver with the caress
Haunt this old heart house
With your mournful, ecstatic moan
Be cut sharp that not all can enjoy this pleasure
Not all will be able to achieve this wonderful madness
And so remain as paintings in a cheap motel
Ungerminated seeds waiting for the proper soil
And the tact of morning dew followed by the sun