Knowledge / Babette Deutsch

Now there is no confusion in our love — For you are there With the big brow, the cheek of tougher grain, The rougher greying hair; And I am here, with a woman’s throat and hands. We are apart and different. And there is something difference understands That peace knows nothing of. It is the pain in pleasure that we seek To kill with kisses, and revive With other kisses; For by our hurt we know we are alive. The tides return into the salty sea, And the sea-fingered rocks are swept and grey. There are no secrets where the sea has crept, But the sea Has kept its ageless mystery. And we, Beaten by the returning passional tides, Searched by the stabbing fingers, Washed and lapped and worn by the old assault, Knowing again The bitterness of the receding wave, With renewed wonder facing the old pain, We are as close As one wave fallen upon another wave; We are as far As the sky’s star from the sea-shaken star. Love is not the moon Pulling the whole sea up to her. And there is something darkness understands These moons know nothing of.