sitting in the ophthalmologist’s chair,
an object of professional indifference,
i want this person to love me.
standing in line at the post office or the 7/11,
i fall in love with the clerk, & then,
all the customers.
lovestruck by the sun;
luststruck by the moon.
the crowds on 6th avenue,
the tourists at times square,
i want them to love me too.
i want to make them laugh
& glad to be alive.
i want to help them
learn to love their souls.
what if
a woman opens her heart to me?
what if she’s to-tal-ly
beau-ti-ful?
i want to be perfectly generous––
the blush of dawn on the face
of the Beloved.