hope but

turns clear

strange corners

your name the answer

but comes the skeptically collected

today I am

nearly weightless within myself

cool

breezy

full of light

my flight pattern

shared with a man

and open

as he provides direction

without

perilous weight

today I am

unknown

breathless

stretched to the sky

lost

in the fall

from contemplation

of self

today my first memory was

of myself

with my arms stretched around

the hot neck of a lion

he brought me great peace

as did I him

because he does this too

stands quiet for beauty

today I have a sadness holding on to me

like heavy-feathered wings

i’ve not asked for

it will travel me

through my autonomy

also unwanted

as what I want is him

in my everydayness

touching me

looking into me that way he does

lightening the heaviness

of my being

because poets don’t always

have it right, do we

it is the weight

that is unbearable

all time spent without him: on book sales and greetings and

wiping the dew from her face, still sultry in September, counting

calories, savoring each segment of her orange, good-byes,

imagining his hands, his mouth, his eyes on her,

swaying to music played as it captures her attention then fades,

building a moment with these words dedicated to him,

his intellect, his passion,

his desire for her as strong as hers for him,

the way he makes her feel when he looks at her,

touches her,

butterflies attend,

calling customers and heralding  the arrival of books

they will never come to collect,

trees dropping their leaves, the sun falling earlier now

her heart drumming, her anticipation building, and

yes, time elapsing, collapsing,

folding in on itself as it is merely a place-holder,

nothing more

i’ve given in to him

his tragedy, his intensity, his

hungry cut blue eyes on me

his tough body against my softness

because he NEEDS

and nothing about me scares him

and he desires to please

and our souls inhabit the same liminal space,

the same berry-stained twilight

wherin something new and incandescent approaches

i go to him in the day

but it is always night

all that is on the outside –

the light, time and rush of otherness

ceases to exist

as he moves over and into me

as his mouth swallows mine

as his good music drifts

from the kitchen to his bed

where he never sleeps

and his soon-to-be ex-wife’s name has been written

on a label stuck to the wall above my body

by his child

here we inhabit something in-between

that is not his home

but a weigh station

too near her

too far from his babies

but very much with me

as I am soft, open

seductive

and intent on on extracting

some of these labels

attending his existence

and filling his emptiness with

heat

and magic

and joy