There Must Be Words

This wound will be effaced as others have,
This scar recede into oblivion,
Leaving the skin immaculate and suave,
With none to guess the thing they gaze upon.
After a decent show of mourning I,
As once I ever was, shall be as free
To look on love with calm unfaltering eye,
And marvel that such fools as lovers be.

These are brave words from one who like a child
Cuts dazzling arabesques on summer ice
That, kissed by sun, begins to crack and thaw;
The old assurance dies, only the wild
Desire to live goes on; any device
Compels its frantic grasp, even a straw.