You make her-self; let’s say, ‘womankind.’
You hope; you, both tender and tough, concerned.
“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
You, seeing a black kettle, call it so.
I, wanting to connect, can’t say ‘marriage.’
You say, “Is there no way out of the mind?”
An old bray, belting out life, damn dismay.
A pact with you, Elly Higginbottom,
I make out of age and fatherlessness.
You carve away the wood; I admire.
Let there be only body between us.