Religion is That I Love You
As time will turn our bodies straight
In single sleep, the hunger fed, heart broken
Like a bottle used by thieves
Beloved, as so late our mouths meet, leaning
Our faces close, eyes closed
Out there
outside this window where branches toss
in soft wind, where birds move sudden wings
Within this lame air, love, we are dying
Let us watch that sleep come, put our fingers
Through the breath falling from us
Living, we can love though dying comes near
It is its desperate singing that we must not hear
It is that we cling together, not dying near each other now.
Kenneth Patchen
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