“The moon splits open.We move through, waterbirds risingto look for another lake.Or say we are living in a love-ocean,where trust works to caulk our body-boat,to make it last a little while,until the inevitable shipwreck,the total marriage, the death-union.Dissolve in friendship,like two drunkards fighting.Do not look for justice herein the jungle where your animal soulgives you bad advice.Drink enough wine so that you stop talking.You are a lover, and love is a tavernwhere no one makes much sense.Even if the things you say are poemsas dense as sacks of Solomon's gold,they become pointless.”