Canto d'amore

To the keeper of my love, my carer and care, 

What can I say that hasn't been said?

I'm no Christian, no Pagan, I have no prayer.

What words can I reach for that remain unread? 

We're in a wild zoo of mute imagining where no callers come, 

Revolving on a rolling rock under the wing of some numberless sun.

It is nameless and yet not named in being so.

A pull from no centre, a pull secret and slow.

Yet could I but raise, 

Unencumbered of well-travelled ways, 

A shining word from all this dust, 

Then calmly I must 

Take your hand in mine 

And with this little shrine

I'd scramble together all the fragments of my being

With a forgetful glue 

And say in the wholesome sense of a sightless seeing, 

For myself, I love you.