By Martin Bemberg

“I thought I’d found my husband. What a cruel joke to lose him,”
She says looking back on my headache so sudden and severe –
It was nothing we’d ere experienced, save our sudden magnetism.

“I can’t wait to tell you all the all
You want to know about me,”
She’ll say looking back at loves past,
The curious, the scurried isolationships.
And when she has escaped with me,
She swells for having learned so much
As they say so careless, and I say simply
Not afraid of must-for-joy and have-to callings.

And now that we have left their place together,
She says such things as,

“Here we see the sun and moon and live among the trees,”
As now we see their branches, how theirs and those of rivers,
Neurons, deltas and their tributaries,
Show the quiet reaching motion,
And she: “So think of what we’re reaching for.”

We hang here humming at an Ozark sky
More striking than the busy, soiled and Texan one we left;
We sit, we hum and hum some more, and think
On what it is that we ourselves are reaching for.
After all, having reached each other is a reach for more.

 

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