I promised it.  Ashes to ashes,

dust to dust -– till death do us part.

I didn’t know, when I promised it, that I was

promising this.  Sometimes the nether

fruit-juice throat of my body sings as a

warbler carols, as if mourning.  I had no

idea I was promising to be true,

after great swallowing, to thirst;

after great feasting to hunger; after great

joy, to grief -– no idea, the feeling

I’d had as a child, holding

in my mouth the universe, hollow

and enormous.  Now there is fury and kindness,

kindness to his children, who are my children,

and kindness to him, who is the father of them,

and even some kind of what-is-it, in my furious

heart, to his wife.  Whatever it takes,

to stand in the chamber of my own heart,

like Shadrach in the fire,

and give up my vow to stop trying to

will that my life be not what it is.

To love and die –- I did not know

I promised it.  But I promised it.