ZONAL

All I had rhymed of that monstrous thing
Returned and yet unrequited love.
- W. B. Yeats, “Presences” (1919)

Calling it unrequited love is too dramatic a counter-
point for that which only exists on some superlunary
anti-world spun off when the timeline frayed. We met,

you: grumpy, foreign and utterly enchanting,
me: frumpy, maudlin and latterly interesting.
Still, something miraculous sparked from it and if
you believe in guardian angels they must have stared

askance as their opalescent pilot feathers brushed

as they passed in opposite directions, a little piece

of soul jumped between our sympathetic valences.

Love, yes, I will defend it, like a troubadour, self-

sacrificing devotion made me friendship’s paragon,

devoted counsellor and clown, which you, flattered,

graciously accepted, not wanting to hurt me,
always platonic, but the burning forests of desire
all mine, imperfectly concealed, you kindly feigning
not to notice, and O the devastated anguish of
your going, your the balm of loyalty in staying in touch,
until eventually the fires gutter out, and from the ash
the friendship, tempered and glowing, remains.
I don’t miss the rest; content that inspiration

remains cyclically born from its tacit nescio,
and wonder surges like magma, hidden

ever beneath the thin ground our feet.