Sonnet with Quartz and Rice
The two-edged sword of being human and
knowing it: blades of grass never compare
themselves to an oak or look in mirrors.
I never love you more than when I watch
you look at your reflection and relish
what you see. Only a human would do
something so dirty and shrewd and divine.
When you touch me you turn me into rose
quartz clouds, into the shadow of a hawk
passing over car hoods in a gravel
parking lot, into a tired old woman
jaywalking, carrying under her arm
a bag of rice. To be loved, be human,
is to be, not turned on, but turned into.
