At one time some people believed
that the elephants
had sex but once:
No wonder such a memory!
Once, I thought love was measured
in some mean distance of imaginary numbers
from whole digits to infinity squared.
One perfect combination. (The tumblers
turn and twist.) My sandpapered fingers
bared to the wrist. But secrets hide
in the between.
Once, love was obvious as the ebb and
flow of ocean is to charts and sailors.
(But sea, O sea – you scene of unseen
sights – you graveyard of mariners –
a gale, a new leak, or a sleeping watch,
and your white wave just swallowed me like bread
Does a lemming really embrace the sea
with a lover’s greed?
To know the sea, roughly
one taste’s enough.
But what about love?