It’s tiresome but true that truth is vantage-bound.
The blood-splayed strife of beast against beast
May be seen as the peace of tiny things,
Dumbly and mutely bouncing around.
From one point of view we’re all one race–
“From a distance,” as Bette might say.
But closer in we hate so well,
And so well we blow each other away.
No doubt there’s a way of looking at love
As a shadowy figment of tedious forces:
Our fullness of heart, but Darwin’s whip.
Adoring, we check the teeth of our horses.
But where I stand, the truth is full face.
The catch of my breath when you come near.
The sweep of your hair, the awe of your grace.
The terrible constancy of my fear
Has worn me on this pained paradigm.
So let’s have a perspective wholly swell,
Where aches are apples and tears taste of lime,
And each tossed, sweating midnight hell
Is a token of heaven, a cherished gift.
I’ll be moving in shortly,
Once I learn how to shift.