Wanting

We want to be in love
don’t we? Or is it just

habit thrusting us into
one another, that one

will do. His job is good
enough to raise babies by

nightlight, a crib in each
room. Cradles full of limbs

torn from the womb of every
last forlorn mother, nursing

nanny. We want to love
ourselves, even when hate,

indifference and loss
smother the very light -

ning we saw that night
together in the storm.