You Have No Form

You have no form, you move among, yet do

not move, the relics of exhausted thought

of which you are not made, but which give world to

you, who are of nothing made, nothing wrought.

There you long for one who is not me, O

queen of no subject, newer than the morning,

more antique than first seed dropped below

the wash where you are called and Adam born.

And here, not your essence, not your absence

weds the emptiness which is never me,

though these motions and these formless events

are preparation for humanity,

and I get up to love and eat and kill

not by my own, but by our married will.

– Leonard Cohen