What should we recant, here,
tonight, as if we'd only just begun:
Off-center already, losing
equilibrium? The world-soul moving
through the strung-out stars moves
in threads that creak and moan,
breathes between your mouth and mine.
Pushing me away, you bring
me home, your attention drawing
down the alchemical sign:
Love draws the soul
the way a magnet draws iron.
"The Hammock" first appeared in The Yale review