Revisions
You've seen this poem before in an earlier version, but it's been revised and polished. So here it is again. Bel Canto I suspect that love is an extraordinary guy dressed in everyday clothes, a wily clown that springs his tricks and slaps his knee, chortling in delight at coupled pratfalls. I'd love to greet him, "Ciao bello!" the moment he turns the corner, sticks out his foot and trips me, skinning my knee and making me feel like a kid again. He'd guffaw and offer his outstretched hand and I'd laugh too and shake it. I'd love to serenade him with a song or beggar Rumi's words recounting -- how fierce like a lion, tender like an evening star -- love dribbled warm and moist in the tender cracks of his soul. I know, I know, he was talking about God but love in all its forms is my god. Right now I'd rather read Rumi and rejoice, "I was dead, then alive. Weeping, then laughing," than recall how once my heart...