The Conversation
You know, since you've played that game too:
Sometimes, consumed by glowing, burning love
of treasured child, or husband, wife,
it is one further bound of love
to speak of them with a detachment;
casually; offhand; as if it were
of no great current consequence;
you look into their eyes; see there what you see:
love's incoherent boundlessness;
are lost to love yourself;
smile; and play their game.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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