To Judith

by JOHN CIARDI

THE stone without edges has not been mined,
and the kiss that does not lie has not been joined.
Nothing falls from Heaven but of its weight.
I love you of my loss.

What day begets the child of no nuisance?
In a tantrum after tenderness, for nothing,
I have slapped the child you bore me.
I love you of my shame.

He old leather. Dry, as a hide in sun
cracks and turns dust and puffs at a touch
once airborne pastes of life have smeared it.
I love you of our death.

The bride without escapes has not been kissed,
nor the groom without terrors. Having dared
our own tears and a child’s, we have our healing.
I love you of that health.