Classic Poem

We'd have to love the nape of the neck more than the thigh
Go around kissing noses in pursuit
of affection's unimagined name
I mean we must again break
the bread with our hands
stick fingers into the clay
like thermometers
till we learn how high the world's mercury rises
We'd have to join a shoulder to a shoulder
long enough to fuse into Mankind
Turn up the volume of the heart
Emit small propitious birds