To write love poems when this world’s a mess
is like, depending on your point of view,
finding jasmine on the moon—an excess
of joy where all is bleak—or dreams of blue
sky at night, of food in famine, oceans
flooding Mars. How much that once was is gone
forever? We lose faith…What devotion
love requires! Dear, on this rock I’ve drawn
a heart, now make it beat, give it sweet blood
to pump and spill, though the stars are bitter
and there’s nothing to eat but long-dry mud;
don’t look down, for Earth’s still there, aglitter,
and when you touch my chest as if to turn
a rusty tap within, she drifts off, spurned.