To A Young Nun
This undemanding love
that our staggered births
have purchased for us —
You in your generation,
I in mine.
I am not the one
you are looking for.
You are not the one
I've stopped looking for.
How sweetly time
disposes of us
as we go arm in arm
over the Bridge of Detail:
Your turn to chop.
My turn to cook.
Your turn to die for love.
My turn to resurrect.