How do they think we can do it so easily?
A stranger brought in to our midst
and we see first the deficiencies–
the undue candor or reticence of speech,
an odd shape to the upper lip,
which has something to do with the teeth.
And still we set aside all hesitation
in a welcome that turns to engulf us.
The circle has spread.
We are, if not in love, loving.
Yet how singularly choiceless a love,
its object arranged, then drawn away
with the buckshot, scattering aim
of another’s wandering affection.
And how in that moody, secretive withdrawal
can they not see that we are stumbling, too?
Uncertain in so much