love will not solve it—but draws closer, always

Whatever constitutes 

the act of love, 

save physical 

 

encounter, you are 

dear to me, 

not value as 

 

with banks— 

but a meaning self- 

sufficient, dry 

 

at times as sand, 

or else the trees, 

dripping with 

 

rain. How shall 

one, this so- 

called person, 

 

say it? He 

loves, his mind 

is occupied, his 

 

hands move 

writing words 

which come 

 

into his head. 

Now here, 

the day surrounds 

 

this man 

and woman 

sitting a small 

 

distance apart. 

Love will not 

solve it—but 

 

draws closer, 

always, makes 

the moisture of their 

 

mouths and bodies 

actively 

engage. If I 

 

wanted 

a dirty picture, 

would it always 

 

be of a 

woman straddled? 

Yes 

 

and no, these 

are true opposites, 

a you and me 

 

of non- 

sense, 

for our love. 

 

Now, one 

says, the wind 

lifts, the sky 

 

is very blue, the 

water just 

beyond me makes 

 

its lovely sounds. 

How dear 

you are 

 

to me, how love- 

ly all your 

body is, how 

 

all these 

senses do 

commingle, so 

 

that in your very 

arms I still 

can think of you. 

 

[Robert Creeley {1926-2005} 'The Act of Love', from Selected Poems, 1945-2005]