Swimmer

You didn't answer.
And although
I said you didn't
have to, now I
wonder
whether you even
got the e-mail, and
whether I should try
some other way
to find you. I had
imagined what you might say.
Your wife's name, maybe,
and how many kids,
and their names. Or
that you still don't
believe in that stuff,
the trappings, the trap
where romance leads us
all. And I began composing
questions, also, all the things
I was too scared to ask back
then. How could you disbelieve
in love? And how could you
hide behind your science
when women approached, but
talk Spirit when it served
you? You talked about reincarnation,
you talked about the psychic
women in your family, and you
even knew
it was a boy. That deep
well where unknowable
things swim? You looked into
it again, again, but never
saw the love. I can insist
now: Love
lives
there, and I
was choking
on it.