ALPHABET OF LOVE

White Bird

70 The Alphabet of Love WHITE BIRD And even when you know There’s no chance of hope, You still can’t let go; You wash your hands, Over and over, But the heart Never takes well To a cake of soap And a basin of water. Here is a strange new pain, Which though localized at first, Spreads slowly from limb to limb, Until you feel, surely, This body is not your own; And how could it be, When there is nothing More to touch But a hard shell That covers a frozen field. Somewhere above the tundra, Foolish voices can be heard Whispering of seasons to come; Down the distant hallway, In a room designed for living, A man speaks a language A woman actually understands— Simple words which occupy An empty space, And love is a white bird With a shattered beak And a broken wing. ...