Love Sonnet X
after Pablo Neruda
And there was one woman who stole into me singing,
who manipulated hearts into zips of lightning
that zigged all over the village and dizzied our people,
leaving cigarette ash and car accidents
in her wake, spitting pearls at the poor, waging
war in one hand and love in the other, many-sided
but pure—a force tailored to my weakness,
a force I could not resist because it resisted me.
No temple bell raised the sun upon her printed face,
and by evening the sky had turned its page.
I called her Muse, and the metal of her laughter
returned to the bells. I called her Joan of Arc
and broke her armor. I called her by her name, Love,
because she was only a woman, like you.
by Ryan Dowling