Because I Love You

I cannot tell you that last night in the exhaust-

fume impatience of nearly-stopped traffic

through which cars crept, linked

with short chains of light,

the driver at my front failed for whole minutes

to follow closely the blue Buick in front of him,

stopped, in fact, entirely, while a thousand

engines idled in molasses-sticky Virginia heat.

I caught the fine, still cut-out of his face

as he leaned a little out the window, looking,

so I turned, too, and saw what I had missed in

long

minutes of waiting: a bank of cloud like

descending

birds, a great, bright raspberry moon,

and I was surprised into loving this man as I

have loved others-ancient-eyed boys reading on

benches,

crossing guards in white gloves,

businessmen sleeping on trains- easily,

as I have never loved you.