![Log In Log In](/branding/icons/new/encrypted.png)
Log In
if I start to hug you, I may never stop.
and if, outside our door, there is rain
or snow, we take no notice.
in our
small cottage, the sun is shining. we hear
goldfinches
singing when there are none.
at our oak table, simple, solid,
we enjoy the feast we've been blest with.
you have lotus tea, coffee
for me.
bread of a French design, mild meats,
fruits of our choosing
(I like green grapes, bananas;
you, perhaps peaches, or Carlos Williams'
cold plums.)
* * *
in "Bonnard's Nudes", Raymond Carver spoke of
the
French painter, Pierre Bonnard, who, over 40 years,
painted
his wife as his young, always beautiful bride.
his intrepid love
maintained her youth and radiance
in his heart, and in his eyes.
when love is true, it's invincible. nothing, not the
passage
of time, nor the aging of the body, nor
the inevitable dissolving
of physical beauty, can
vanquish that love.
* * *
when we sleep, we are wrapped in the comfort
of joy
and peace. and now the day, and the poem, have
come
to an end.
am I still hugging you?