Love finds us, love hunts us out.
The bride may kick a chair and cry, no doubt,
the lucky man feels like his luck’s run out,
but love finds us, love hunts us out.

The fiction of the single flesh
is only that: The fiction that
two lives can so encounter and enmesh
that a man and wife are one flesh.
To believe in the which, we must repeat
that man and wife are one flesh.
Man and wife are one flesh.

A hand in a hand is only a hand in a hand,
if any of our experience is true.
But a hand in a hand is a hand-link,
and that’s true, too.