What figure am I, to haunt your house of love?
I think I never held a pillar here.
But here you come,
To make another pilgrimage to this place.
The blindest birdies chatter the most,
And the loudest,
On my grounds.
And we, who are not blind, must distract ourselves
From the crumbs of truth they’ve failed to grasp.
Shall you and I break bread together?
I am not a good hostess;
I will not warm it for you.
And I insist on dining alfresco.
Fear not, I am the stature of Justice
Who wears a blindfold, but still sees.
And to my opinion,
In my most loving moments,
Everything you see is captured perfectly
With your sterling sight.
The rest might as well all have splinters in their eyes.
You and I can live in an orchard of cinderblocks,
For all I care.
And have contentment just in
Finding different ways to
Describe it to each other.
And I am confident we might someday build
A monument to our love.
Let me call you my turtledove.
Perch here on my shoulder.