Valentines can do the math:
More than one is none.
Intimacy is intimate,
Else one must be alone.
One can be a Valentine
Only if one will
Take one for oneself, and then
Let the heart be still.

Valentines are all in one:
Parent, child, friend,
Pet and plaything, counselor,
Nurse, guide, journey’s end.

Valentines are never perfect,
Though they patient prove.
What one can expect of them
Depends upon one's love.

Valentines are people who
Are willing to be flowers,
Letting us enjoy their beauty
Even if for hours.
No Valentine hides from the sun,
Though sometimes lost in light.
If you love them, they just open,
Not unhappy to be woken
Even in the night.

Valentine's for mothers, too --
A time to celebrate
Love in all its symphony,
Each gift of fertile fate.
No pasture is more rich in grass;
The sea is not so full;
In heaven all the stars are not
Near so plentiful,
Each mother's heart to fill.

Valentine's for lovers and for friends.
All my love goes out to you this day!
Love is something different from desire:
Even, silent, peaceful as the sky.
Nor is love interested in means or ends.
There are no selfish needs that it must weigh.
Instead, love's plenitude itself inspires,
Needing neither cause nor reason why.
Each day my thoughts enchanted with you lie.

Valentine's Day
Is a wonderful way
To make "I love you"
Easy to say.

Valentine's a day to say, "I love you,"
A ritual that stages something real,
Letting out the truth of what I feel
Even as I think it often of you.
Nor could I with such grace without this day
Tell you that I'm grateful that I have you,
Impress upon you just how much I need you,
Needing such a frame for what I say
Even as I would my heart reveal.

Today's the day I ought to say I love you,
Although I ought to say it every day.
But "ought" can stand directly in the way,
An obstacle to being honest with you.
Why can't I tell you what I feel for you?
Because a feeling's too complex to say,
Wrapped in an appropriate cliche,
Offered on the day I "ought" to tell you.
And yet this squeamishness is just a pose
Dissolved into the river of my love,
Which needs no more than one word for its name.
Beneath my wordy sophistry it flows
Like truth that one need neither test nor prove,
A happiness I need but speak to claim.

To my Valentine, with all my love,
Of whom I cannot say enough in praise:
May my love for you sufficient prove,
Yearning to redeem your caustic days.
Vortices within may drag you down.
Anchor, then, in my serenity.
Love saves some who otherwise might drown,
Embarked alone upon their Galilee.
Nor should you deem your own love not enough
To be the chapel to which I retreat
In search of a pavilion for my pain.
No love is love unless it be a seat
Enchanted, where a stone might weep again.

To ask you to be my Valentine
I'd have to talk to you,
Something that in all this time
I've managed not to do.
I'd have to get past "Hi!" somehow
To show you that I care,
But the right time is never now,
Especially when you're there.

It's as if a wall of fear,
Transparent yet profound,
Came hurtling up as you come near,
Cutting off all sound.

I fear I won't know what to say
And strike you as a fool,
Or you'll be glad to get away,
Polite not to be cruel.

Easier to dream than act,
To hope than to find out,
So fearful of the force of fact

This Valentine's I wish that you were with me.
It's lonelier than most days I'm alone,
Even though we'll manage on the phone
To touch with words the face we cannot see.
You away are far more dear to me
Than anyone who might remain at home.
My love is in the places that you roam,
Being with you where I cannot be.
We do not choose the objects of our passion,
But passively await the holy fire
That immolates our past and lights our fate,
Twisting through the alleys of desire.
So I am yours, and will contented wait,
Allowing love my life and will to fashion.