it might be said that I loved you:
love is as absolute as death is,
and neither bears false witness to the other-
But you remain alive
No, I do not love you
hate the word,
that private tyranny inside a public sound,
your freedom's yours and not my own:
but hold my separate madness like a sword,
and plunge it in your body all night long.
If death shall strip our bones of all but bones,
then here's the flesh and flesh that's drunken-sweet
as wine cups in deceptive lunar light:
reach up your hand and turn the moonlight off,
and maybe it was never there at all,
so never promise anythign to me:
but reach across the darkness with your hand,
reach across the distance of tonight,
and touch the moving movement once again
before you fall asleep-
by
Al Purdy
