top of page

Beyond the breaking of the stone


Our love, my love,

is young and old;

strong-limbed and lithely bold

but lined and underlined

by many lives of long ago

whose names, though some were cut in stone,

survived alone within the mind.


In youth, my love, our bodies touch

and join;

naked we wrestle tenderly

and shudder at the pleasure that we find;

we give and take

until, my love, with love we break,

though still in loose delight entwined.


But in its age, our love, my love

was old when you and I alone,

surveyed with other eyes the Nile

and seeing Khufu build his pyramid

- the endless laying on of stone on stone -

looked at each other openly,

a wise awareness in the smile we gave

that, in a thousand lives of love,

our love, my love, would long outlive

the grandeur of the Pharaoh’s grave.


From then till now, in youth and age,

throughout the thousand lives we’ve known,

a thousand lovers, hand in hand,

declare our love, their love, survives;

at every time, in every land,

beyond the flesh, beyond the bone,

beyond the breaking of the stone.

Next poem

bottom of page