Unable to bear <br />the uncertainty <br />of the future, <br />we consulted seers, <br />mediums, stock market gurus, <br />psychics who promised <br />happiness on this <br />or another planet, <br />astrologists of love, <br />seekers of the Holy Grail. <br /> <br />Looking for certainty <br />we asked for promises, <br />lover's knots, pledges, rings, <br />certificates, deeds of ownership, <br />when it was always enough <br />to let your hand <br />pass over my body, <br />your eyes find the depths of my own, <br />and the wind pass over our faces <br />as it will pass <br />through our bones, <br />sooner than we think. <br /> <br />The current is love, <br />is poetry, <br />the blood beat <br />in the thighs, <br />the electrical charge <br />in the brain. <br /> <br />Our long leap <br />into the unknown <br />began nearly <br />a half century ago <br />and is almost <br />over. <br /> <br />I think of the <br />amphorae of stored honey <br />at Paestum <br />far out-lasting <br />their Grecian eaters, <br />or of the furniture <br />in a pharoah's tomb <br />on which <br />no one sits. <br /> <br />Trust the wind, <br />my lover, <br />and the water. <br /> <br />They have the <br />answers <br />to all your questions <br /> <br />and mine.<br /><br />Erica Jong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/middle-aged-lovers-i/
