CarrollBlog 3.2

The Nearness That Is All

by Samuel Hazo

Love's what Shakespeare never

said by saying, "You have

bereft me of all words, lady."

Love is the man who siphoned

phlegm from his ill wife's throat

three times a day for seven

years.

Love's what the Arabs

mean when they bless those

with children: "May God keep them

for you."

Or why a mother

whispers to her suckling, "May you

bury me."

Love's how the ten-year

widow speaks of her buried

husband in the present tense.

Love lets the man with one leg

and seven children envy no man

living and none dead.

Love

leaves no one alone but, oh,

lonely, lonelier, loneliest

at midnight in another country.

Love is jealousy's mother

and father.

Love's how death

creates a different nearness

but kills nothing.

Love

makes lovers rise from each

loving wanting more.

Love

says impossibility's possible

always.

Love saddens glad

days for no bad reason.

Love gladdens sad days

for no good reason.

Love

mocks equivalence.

Love is.