Everything was as it
        always was, nothing had changed –

youth sleuthing through
        the heightened wet,
        light gracing stonetop,
                  and a pillowed streak   
                                      on western sky –

and as before,
        sun corrals light –

        amoral, though not abnormal
                        but for
                        its leaning
                                on my weathered
                                        heart

And I think that in spite
              of ourselves,
              perhaps we are what we
                     would like to be –

I should like
              to roam,
       to take the pull and spliff of life

                       (and as the lonely railroads
                        and workyards swim in sepia and gray-
                green, in spite of themselves, they too
                               glimmer in right
                                                    sunlight)

Somewhere between
Sanatorium and Paradise
it hit me -          
                             how utterly free
                            we are, so free
               it's almost offensive.

Caving and leaking,
I bundle trust and decision
at my side        
                            (if only I were
    capable of artless rhythm,
               of give and take).

For Freedom breeds
athleticism          
                            (listless,
     its muscles atrophy
the gauging of times
           and seasons,

the measure of pass and stow;

                              slacken the meter
                 of intention and desire
to pool and settle as they grow.

O lioness,

your head swung low, stooped
on muscled haunches and still,
so still on arid reed -

is your mind swept clean, all sins
forgiven? That ravenous beast -
kingly and untouchable, like a god -

is joined by another,
and bearded like wizened lords,
both parade and bare pride

and teeth. As Jealousy and Lust devour
your scrubbed young, you resign -
fur blending and heart shrivelling

in heat - and perhaps
what frightens you most
is later giving love and life

to someone that has stolen it.

Is my genteel unaffection
mere lack of movement or inflection?
(though I’d like to think that my reflection shines
brighter in your eyes than in mine)

I was lighter, then -
heavier, yes, but lighter -

the weights newer,
less determined.

Then - before all
turned inward,

fixation outward -
before windowsills

turned old,
and aspiration skyward.

At the kitchen sink,
raw hands scrubbed clean
of associations, the untraceable
scent of you overwhelmed me.
Its subtlety was disarming,
trawling nights of salty tongues
and toothpasted underbrush,
of bundled mornings
and the Führer’s glassy eye,
bright blue. Of wan starlight
gleaming on placid lake
and raucous beer-spiked nights
across the water. That light
presaged different things for both of us.

But that night you lingered close
on air, edging the doorjambs wedged
with year-old hesitations,
the driftwould crumbling
the threaden footfalls between
your house and mine.