On Love

A poem for Wednesday

a brightly lit hand reaching out to the dark sky, the lens smudged with rain drops
Sohrab Hura / Magnum

You can’t climb
on top and call

yourself conqueror,
or, straddling, whip

love into submission.
Love wanders from sky

to sky––once or twice
I’ve seen it there

or felt a presence
other than my own––

a kind of glowing
twilight makes

before it tires
of one place.