Everyone thinks it’s Mary you love

but you look at us all

with those eyes, that look,

your love so infinite and divine

it is total for each of us

and particular for all.

But are you not also a man like me

who longs for small intimacies –

a look exchanged

a knowing word

an embrace in plain sight

filled with private ferocity

clasped tightly between us

heart to heart?

I am small beside your greatness

but your love magnifies me;

I am unworthy to receive you

but our worth beyond measure

is the gospel you live

the revelation of your word

the Apocalypse.

This Greek we try to speak –

you better than I –

has all these words

– philia, storge, eros, agape –

and yet no word

for what I feel for you

and know of you

and want from you –

love – this hurting, healing thing –

there is no Word at all for this

but you.