September 3, 2012

poem 305 of a poem a day for 2012

the smell of meteorological Autumn

so you said
that wanting me
is very near
where your soul bleeds
itself into time
and as you are crawling
through each exhale
you say you have
no reason for disbelieving
the truth of lusting now
you say to come here
and I say how close can I get
when will my ashes
become seed heads

the letter you sent
a few weeks ago
said don’t forget
to kiss your way in
and that is all
I can do now
my lips and tongue
have become a compass
ornate with your direction
finding a way through
the clung mist
of the near birth
of morning

it is 4 am and
the windows are open
and looking in
to where I am
looking out across
the landscape of each
of our surrenders
in the turn wheel
mathematics of trees
just beginning
to shed their leaves
my desire is homeward
and silk-bound
it is waiting
once again
to be found
with no need
for my eyes


1 comment:

  1. Each word of want carefully crafted with elegance and quiet surrender.