Of course she and I met almost forty years ago. Our honeymoon period was long ago. So we talked some more, and after a while Marie saw it the same way too. And then after a little while she sent me a poem about it. (Among other things in this poem, she picked up on a story I had told her about D: that on our twelfth date, as I was reading her Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, I realized that she hadn't heard a single word I'd said for several chapters but was just enjoying the sensuous feel of listening to my voice. In a sense it was flattering, but I was also kind of irked because I had wanted to discuss the ideas.)
She and I have gotten to the point where we can collaborate on poetry: either of us can point to a rough spot in the other's poem and suggest improvements. So we talked about this one, smoothing out this and rewording that, for almost three weeks. And finally came up with a version that I really like. (To be clear, I really liked the very first version. But this one is better.)
All men
assent to this: that Love is blind;
That
lovers can’t discern’s a common jest.
Yet men
might better say that Love is kind,
That
Love’s eyes open only to the best.
And so a
man whose shoulders spoke of strength,
I admir’d
as self-disciplined and kind.
So when a
woman let you speak at length,
You
trusted to have found a fellow mind.
But no;
she craved your voice and not your thought.
And no;
he trained his body, not his soul.
Though
first we saw but virtues, and we fought
‘Gainst
seeing flaws, that with strengths make the whole.
Yet we
each other’s failings long did know,
Our vision clear though
colored by Love’s glow.
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