Those Of Us Who Think We Know, Stephen Dunn

Those of us who think we know 
the same secrets 
are silent together most of the time, 
for us there is eloquence 
in desire, and for a while 
when in love and exhausted 
it’s enough to nod like shy horses 
and come together 
in a quiet ceremony of tongues 

it’s in disappointment we look for words 
to convince us 
the spaces between stars are nothing 
to worry about, 
it’s when those secrets burst 
in that emptiness between our hearts 
and the lumps in our throats. 
And the words we find 
are always insufficient, like love, 
though they are often lovely 
and all we have 

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