margaret atwood


love
then there is the two of us - this word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars that press on us with their deafness.
it's not love we don't wish to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will have to do. it's a single
vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says
oh again and again in wonder and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside.
you can hold on or let go.














