Hidden Losses
It never crossed my mind—
what would happen after
reaching, finally,
that happiness.
How it would feel
giving up
the open-ended beauty of indifference,
my love of
following the dark
into the secret corners
of people, cities
—feelings
that can only
be scraped against
by willing to give it all up
at a moment’s notice—
To be done
finding love by
pulling it out of the dirt
by its broken arms &
making art
from all those flying parts—
The strangeness of no longer
breathing while pressed against
a window to the world,
that pang
the perfectly protected
grief
of never getting that thing.
—Following those empty
little proofs of desire
right to the edge
of a cliff
& the quiet feat
of
climbing down
again
with no one
watching.
The Imaginary Weight of Bones
In my dreams,
I’m writing dictionaries for words that mean
lighter than light, darker than dark—
I’m finding the names for
your cold shoulder,
the quiet tempers
of your bottomless lakes.
Your sandy banks are
burying me.
I try to suffocate you in that sleep—
and you, breaking my bones,
are planting little death
kisses down my thighs.
Are you here with me?
Running in the forest,
the wild horses stomping
in the wet night —
Phantom aches, a hunger
so loud— I find
myself leaving, your eyes
in the trees when I go.
Languages
Staring at your hands,
it seems the paper cuts
from my love letters
have healed completely.
The latest draft in my head
is looking for a reason
to bandage
your finger tips up, again.
At midnight, you can’t let go
of the leather wheel of
your parked truck. —
How many times did I say
“Russian—
is an impossible language.”
After you, quietly
asking that I try. Well.
Even in English, “I’m
“sorry” just keeps stumbling over
over
“—Ask meagain.”