Understanding Shakespeare

I always thought I was Cordelia, but it was he

Who faced with love’s wholeness, stood wholly dumb
The thirty years of our lives’ overlap: a hairsbreadth span.
He wanted much and never spoke, but wrote us posthumous letters.
I married out of his love, but entered in again
One night, when he awoke alone: his native city glowed,
Strange daylight pink, an empty streetlight checkerboard
Beneath his hospital window. Confused, he rose and dressed,
He searched for keys: “I must go home.”

There is no “some” or “all” in love,

There’s room enough for husband, room for child, as well as father.
Outside of self and time he understood
But pushed away until the circle closed,
When he, eyes open wide and deep to knowledge of infinity
Asked in the end for nothing but a touch, and linked us.