there is.

there is.

this thing i want to do, it enters

sleep with you. like a dream duo,

who will be engulfed?

circling lakes, i imagine, we have

plenty of them. pack you up

in a tent and carry

us together to a land of silence,

my bones are tethered together

with calcium and romance.

i could be lifted,

i avoid being swept.

step by step, a spiral

unfolding upwards, i am dizzy

and disciplined. what do

your limbs look like beyond

winter, without long sleeves? the distraction

must be postponed, there is a snowplow

up ahead, barely an inch

of knowing you. the trees undress.

like an anchor to employ with caution,

i'd like to root myself in

a landscape or seascape i could

commit to, with seasonal swings, frozen

boundary waters, milky budding thaws.

no fences.

or this, my legs open,

i'm bleeding, it is unlike

religion, it is real

torpor & fervor & transcendence.

i swallow, i allow,

birds & their beaks,

birds & their wings,

beating arms holding exactitudes.

inside, i can feed, there is a nest.

there is a mountain range.

there is a strong wind.

there, next to me, in clear

vision with blue background:

you, body of water.

you, eyes of fire.

you, rolling over.

your left shoulder, elbow, your whole arm.

your left thigh, knee, you are whole. there.

your whole warm face.

my certain hands.

2.16.12