love

Viola d’amore

Sometimes love does die,
but sometimes, a stream on porous rock,
it slips down into the inner dark of a hill,
joins with other hidden streams
to travel blind as the white fish that live in it.
It forsakes one underground streambed
for the cave that runs under it.
Unseen, it informs the hill,
And, like the strings of the viola d’amore,
Makes the hill reverberate,
So that people who wander there
Wonder why the hill sings,
Wonder why they find wells.

Afterlove

How could I have forgotten
the sickness, 
the inescapability.
My strange love,
it frightens my life. 
We sail high seas 
and watch the voyages of stars. 
 
Sometimes they collide.
Did you know, you make my head flame.
Blue flames and purple flames leap about my head.
I had once a thousand tongues,
but tonight,
my head is crashing through the sky,
my head is flaming on a dish.
 
My love,
carry it in carefully,
My love,
carry it in with trumpets.
 
by Moya Cannon

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