Take these words:
they’re all I have to give.
If I wait for their unfolding,
I’m lost in the flood of quicksilver,
motive drowning in fulfillment —
too much satiation, too much matter,
and my mouth falls dry —
but words satisfy quietly
a distance from object you can’t hold
or let go of —
so take these words —
we can survive on them for years,
dreaming in their shadows,
dancing on their bones,
sucking them like bright candies
on a long highway ride…
My moon is full tonight
and the grass is growing blue.
The cool marble of my skin
with the breath of your breath
before it touches you.
The halls between my fingers have opened
and are waiting for yours to crawl inside.
The night’s too long
and the space too far
There is this man
who’s become the man in the moon to me.
He watches over me
while I’m sleeping,
and draws down all the dew.
He’s the stones in my river
that disturb and dapple me,
and he’s the silt shifting
beneath my flow…
The word sounds like a Christmas cookie:
patterns pressed in the firm dough of me
with a carved rolling pin of impressions
like the Springerle my sisters and I made as children,
baked in the hot oven of intention
too many times, too many batches,
too many burnt offerings, all this waste.
I’m sorry for all the things I taught you
when I was still learning to be myself.
I’m sorry for all you learned inside me,
the monologues I baptized your splitting cells with
on long walks home from the train
after working on my feet all day
or on the way to the laundromat,
pushing the cart over packed snow—
at the sink, on my knees, at the stove,
hanging the rags to dry; and finally, in dreams—
once I felt I’d earned the right to sleep.
I’m sorry for the way I said it was,
the things I said we do for love.
I said it like a prayer, while getting him tea
in the hours I didn’t need to be awake in.
This is how we love…
…There is no disgrace
as long as you remember
to plan it:
with a steady conscience,
cast your libations
to quench the thirsty dead
and honor the thousand invisibles:
you must always remember
the thousand demons that sneak
into the unseen midst
between eyes and electric brain,
and through the gaps
between your thousand wandering kisses
erupting in violets
over skin’s borderless terrain,
blooming from a thousand open pores—…