KATE LIGHT

Thirty-five

"Take all my loves, my love,
yea, take them all"
—Shakespeare, Sonnet 40

Take them all, my love, all loves that passed
like bloodstreams through me, so; and made me weep.
Still, weeping shows it has its worth at last:
it drew the furrows and the runnels deep
through which love frowns and flows. And now these peaks
and cracks, these vales and heights have forged a way
for yours. How great's a love that great ease seeks?
The gasps and gaps in what one tries to say,
the stoppages; the conduits that tore
and healed; the cells that still await repair;
the echoes in the walls as we explore
these selves that are somewhat the worse for wear;
oh though I wish, my love, that I were free
I'm not; you take them all, in taking me.