I Love You

I love you, whatever you do to me,
however you make sport of my ruin.
I love you to madness — until
my very feeling dries upon my tears.
I love you as the homeless stranger loves
a past that vanished and never came back.
I love you in the silence of my glance
and in the folds of a flourishing mind.

•

I have worshiped you, seeking no glance —
a secret worship upon my ribs;
I hide my passion, and make no complaint,
and silence my sobbing in my own hearing.
I sing of you — why should I sing of time? —
and chant my melody to the Maker.

•

"Jinani," I beg of you, do not mock
an aching heart new-born to love;
it fell, weaned too soon, though beauty
had bound it fast to you — so make no claim.
I loved you as a soft illusion upon
a sail putting out on the road of the horizon,
while my eyelid gathers up behind it
remnants of vows that sing along with me.