Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/Knowledge

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KNOWLEDGE
Now there is no confusion in our love—For you are thereWith 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 understandsThat peace knows nothing of.It is the pain in pleasure that we seekTo kill with kisses and reviveWith other kisses;For by our hurt we know we are alive.
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The tides returns into the salty sea,And sea-fingered rocks are swept and grey—There are no secrets where the sea has crept,But the seaHas 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 againThe bitterness of the receding wave,With renewed wonder facing the old pain,We are as closeAs one wave fallen upon another wave;We are as farAs the sky's star from the sea-shaken star.
Love is not the moonPulling the whole sea up to her,And there is something darkness understandsThese moons know nothing of.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseBabette Deutsch

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