Commitment is a happy blinding:
we have bound each other, not
for all time but all now, in the love
that is here enough to be real, real
enough to be here, we swim in it, as if
it will never run out.
Our hope and threat the future, its silk tent
filled with all our powerless promises, waiting to billow
away to itself in the smallest wind.
How do the limbs of lovers stride
gigantic past their own future failings?
I will us not to change, to love and have loved, a circle
around us as tight as our arms, a prospect
stingless, as lovely as, oh, right now, and ours.
Whatever you become, the stretch of your body
Here for eternity, as if,
and all loss lost, unwanted ending.