When I say

 

When I say
I used to dream of you,
it was a single dream –
a fantastic distraction – the way in which
nothing at all happened.
There was no beginning
and no end.

When I say
I used to hold onto things tightly –
as long ago as this morning –
I would look for clues everywhere,
in the bathroom, under the sofa,
forgetting
the lines in my palms, the soles of my feet –
that the answers have always been free.

Sometimes I slip in and out of reason,
easily sliding
between joy and despair,
messiness and laughter.

At times, my body becomes rattled
with impatience.
I stamp my proverbial foot.
Am I deserving?
Is there nothing more to see?

Sometimes,
after the waning moon begins to shut her good eye,
has absorbed all the human deeds for the day,
she hangs over us, a silver coin.

Sometimes,
late into those quiet nights,
I reach across the immense ocean of the bed,
lay my hand in yours
and we sleep.

 


 

SK