In Baclayon, Reading Levertov’s
“For Those Whom the Gods Love Less”
Perhaps it is now the other way around,
and I have become an almost-perfect lover,
caring little that the Gods love poets less.
I am begun again anew, listening
from the open window to the old tambis tree
drop red bells of fruit onto the grass & roof.
In this humid May afternoon in Baclayon,
the guava redolent on the branch meets the sun-
bird’s praise, both scent & song passing through me,
as though I have turned into all-embracing air
in this keep of grace, Levertov’s radiant wings
decanting shadows, urging the only way to let love.