Say yes. Yes
or belonging is a state of mind.
Steady with apathy, I ride out to the end of the peninsula
and watch where July breaks sharply and curves back
to find a previous version of its own motionless patience.
I’ve taken breathing lessons,
I can never remember a name,
my energy wakes to laugh in the face
of heat and linoleum and a disorienting reconfiguration of
our case.
When I ask to see your new place what I mean is,
how long since we last had coffee,
a desk to work at,
a bridge to hide under,
a moving reproof?
In the city, women are calling love ineffable,
not making eye contact,
just color, frequency, and story.
Imagine a breeze,
a kettle whistling.
Walk east a bit in the field
to the cows, the trees, the barbed wire, and the ideal
loosens a bit as we go:
How can I ignore our
eating lightly in hastily lit basements?
The little glass of beer on the table simply lost its nerve.
On a hot day I tried to take your picture,
unaware of what to do
you are half smiling, your arm spread along the back of a bench.
I shredded that picture
and all your love notes. I began with illicit and ran down the line
years later to find myself furiously digging through scraps
for a piece of your face, your hands.
I knew them so well:
not like I know my bathroom mirror
or my moment before waking
but you’ve whispered this in my ear by now.
BB
