This morning love is like a moat,
on one side me, the other you,
and in the moat there is an empty
yellow raft, and on the raft
twin sets of oars with narrow ends
where hands might fit, and from the shores
we who have hands both choose to leap
into the moat and swim to meet
upon the boat and put our weight
toward something new that’s not quite me
and not quite you and pull together
through the wake, it’s not what I
might once have said it would be like
this love, this love that parts the waves.