Conditional by Richard Spilman

If it be dream
let him wrap her in clouds,

let her call
his name from the next room.

If lust
let him burn the house down,

and she
bury a knife in his heart.

But if it be love
let him bring scorched breadfruit
and kneel at the water’s edge;

let her rise 
in foam, wrenched from the broken 
mouth of horror like a pearl.

Taken from the collection In the Night Speaking with permission by the author

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