I love you without love’s obligation;
I like the names we chose ourselves
more than the ones we were given,
tradition is a prison: life can be
the light refracted through our person,
a prism; I love you like the last tree
hates the saw—I love the mania
as much as I love its fall; I love you like
an undiscovered species loves seclusion;
I love you effusively, how Vesuvius loved Pompeii;
I love you despite what our mothers must say,
what we say of our mothers, I love you—
there is no other bird like you.
William Ward Butler is the poet laureate of Los Gatos, California. He is the author of the chapbook Life History from Ghost City Press. His recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Bennington Review, Denver Quarterly, Switchyard, and other journals. He is a poetry reader for TriQuarterly and co-editor-in-chief of Frozen Sea: frozensea.org