I imagine that it’s hard
To love two men, but I know
It’s easy to be one of them.
The two of us share your heart;
I wish I also shared your bed.
That heart of yours expands
To fit us in—as it grew
To hold your children—
In a fecund act of cultivation
Fed by a spring so deep and cool,
Walled by rock so old and hard,
As to be immune from taint.
I want to claim you for my own,
To plant your vine in my bower,
To have your fruit at any moment
Between my fingers and on my tongue.
But you would wither there, I fear,
Leaving less of you to share:
Less of Lucy to be loved.
You make no demands on us
But that we treat you well,
As the singular soul you are, lonely scout
From the distant world where hearts expand
To hold what falls into their hands.
I imagine it would be hard
To mishandle you and live to tell,
So quick would be the wrath of God
Jealous of the finest thing He's made—
An accident, no doubt, or there would be
A replica of you for me.
At least that is how I should feel—
If I were God, knowing you.