sep 2013

Winter

(For C.S.)

much as fire

befriends a little brush

and climbs -  from ground, to trunk, 

and last, that branch -

so, too, was I, and am I, and

on those days

busy is a friend

that steps me away.

I lean into the ordinary.

I sink.

but where your face touches me,

where the long full of your arm intersects -

good and tart and sweet

and loved.

all the hours,

the side by side,

the reminding and the full 

and the bleak,

all at once. it's too much. too much.

come back to me.

I want to be 

still 

again.