Love in a Cemetery

Sometimes I brought the well to you.
Sometimes you found the well.
Among eternal cedars, blackbirds, gray
Aged stones narrating that which had
Passed.

Sometimes you drank there,
Sometimes in other places.

There were whispers, sighs,
Caterwauled passions poured
Out, puma wailings and long
Hair sleek as a forest cat’s.

Under these things the earth
Trembles but does not give up its
Dead. The cedars, the stones, the
Blackbirds are quickened for the
Living.

Like you, dreaming of Hitchcock,
Rebecca, Paris in the 1920s, Picasso’s
Smoldering, abstract mistresses
Asleep somewhere in the Louvre.

Sometimes you drank there,
Sometimes in other places.

Wherever mind’s infinite eye
Formed a new image of
Love in a cemetery, a contraltoed
Interpretation to carry home,
Singing, always singing of days to
Come.