Quickly Words

What Love Means for the Dish and the Spoon

At the concert
I could feel the bass man.
Not the rhythm
in my blood. Not
his sweat, his eyes. It was
nothing sensual, sexual, nothing
I could have imagined.

There was a hymn
we sang in church, about the wonder-
working power in the blood.
I never thought
about the ancient, natural religions
and how they grew
from blood splashed on barren rock.

The juke box is vibrating.
You bend to pick up a quarter,
and the bar goes dark. All
sound becomes tiny.
It is as if you had really run away
this time, and run so fast
you left your heart behind
like a bull rider’s dusty hat,
for some clown to rescue.

Are there beings in the universe
for whom time moves not
like a river, but a yo-yo?
And does their god
walk with them, sing and keep them
spinning on a string?

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