I see your smile which you keep reserved—
While you walk across the parking lot
to lunch in your Toyota truck
I know the relief you felt when I asked you where to find the books of poetry—
It was in your readiness when you pronounced eight-eleven and walked me to the shelves.
I know you would have done the same for any other lut with a sleeping bag and overflowing satchel
Because your love goes deeper than this feeble forms that linger here
Deeper than any line or set of lines or pages or set of pages between covers or any set of covers stacked on shelf or set of shelves; in fact I hazard to guess that accumulation holds no bearing
Because this is love and love knows no quantities and it being a quality itself needs no other qualities.
There is the generator of attraction; there is the object being attracted; all other forms and ways are incidental