To Empty Myself Upon This Earth Like the Clouds
It’s raining but eventually it won’t be.
Not raining but eventually it will.
Tempted, I walk outside
one grey, wet step after another,
following hunger. Someone
recently told me not everyone
longs like this. Can’t imagine.
Each cloud contains the pulse
of the stars behind it. There is only
one cloud, obscuring only all,
backlit by the moon. Always
I wear this raincoat of desire
and ash. You are so far away.
Ode to Infidelity
it’s only ever been you but jesus there are so many versions of me
climbing into this bed every night
they say people behaving extravagantly want to be caught
all I want is to be held
what are you looking for when you climb onto me
what late-night sounds wake you
is it too warm in here
is it me
I’m calling no one else’s name
no one else is answering
all I want is you to look at me
tell me something true
about this life we’ve built
one slow rhyme after another
one small patient lie at a time
one warm-hot night at a time
tell me I’m right
about what it means to be touched
Love Poem
There’s a song with your name in it
but I can’t listen to it
with anyone else in the room.
You slide your fingers
into my mouth and pull out
another word for this lake
we’ve made of our lives.
Each summer it goes drought-dry:
cracked field of mud,
surface of a strange planet.
What is left to say
about such distance?
What to say about rain
that our bodies don’t already know?
