By Rod McKuen
I live alone.
It hasn't always been that way.
It's nice sometimes
to open up the heart a little
and let some hurt come in.
It proves you're still alive.
I'm not sure what it means.
Why we cannot shake the old loves from out minds.
It must be that we build on memory
and make them more that what they were.
And is the manufacture
just a safe device for closing up the wall?
I do remember.
The only fuzzy circumstance
is something where-and how.
Why, I know.
It happens just because we need
to want and to be wanted too,
when love is here or gone
to lie down in the darkness
and listen to the warm.
Reaching For Babylon | Growing the Perfect Beard | R.S. Thomas The Golden Age Gallery | John Wood | The Enelow Family Page Wendy Cope | Robert Olen Butler | Dylan Thomas The Hall of Poets |Phillip Larkin | Superman Alan Moore | Warren Ellis | Obsessions Planetary Annotations | Dr. Robert E. Nelsen The Unnoficial Sojourn Webpage | Chad Hansen's Page of Poetry Links | The Poem Library | Hall of Poets | Vitae | Terra Cotta Back to the Codex