For Diane Wakoski

Oh, my Beatrice
you break like waves
each one unique
often criss-crossing
and successive waves canceling
the retreat of the ones before

Each crashing wave the same
roaring cries of love love love
each a different kind of love
and each one I crave
until the next one breaks upon the sand

Oh, my Beatrice
I am tangled in the rigging
of the wreckage of my ship
I am swept up by your current
my fate is but your whim
Where you will, I must go
be it Paradise—or below