When I Try
When I try to touch, see, smell
I am slid off and slipped back in
The pool of my own spreading self
Detail drowned in idea
Memory in dream
O who can save me?
Who can pull me out of my own self?
Like Elsie one sultry afternoon between classes
Looking up sharply as I sang St Ides Heaven,
Ruining my reverie.
For, said Elsie. He sings ‘for’ not ‘with.’
He changes it in the second line.
She was right. She knew
Love is harsh.
Love gets it exactly right.
It doesn’t miss a thing
Not even a preposition.
Love is harsh. That's a stone-cold fact. Dorothy Day was founded of quoting something like that from "The Brothers Karamazov". Love is actually the same as sacrifice. And yes, love gets it exactly right.
What a beautiful poem. Sometimes, I can touch, see, and smell, but I don't have the words. You have the words. I love it.