there are no metaphors left now
for love. everyone has had a share
from the local policeman in his uniform
to your parents and the little girl
with plastic shoes who disturbs you
in your contemplation of this

when i approach you my mouth
is filled with this emptied word
when i open to say it the darkness grows
inside me are spaces vast and forlorn

from nothing i articulate something
this is the last metaphor.
from being to non being
i give birth to love
every morning as you rise
as soft and as quiet as a star