Love is a secret room where we become what we always were, or 'most nakedly are.'
The Same Gesture - John Montague
There is a secret room
of golden light where
everything - love, violence,
hatred is possible;
and, again, love.
Such intimacy of hand
and mind is achieved
under its healing light
that the shifting of
hands is a rite
like court music.
We barely know our
selves there though
it is what we always were
- most nakedly are -
and must remember
when we leave, re-
suming our habits
with our clothes:
work, 'phone, drive
through late traffic
changing gears with
the same gesture as
eased your snowbound
heart and flesh.
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