Find coastlines along the edges of your body,
mark your territory
and invite gallant young men to try their hand
at crossing a huge wall made of crystal glass
and steel verses.

Let them be afraid of the tombstones gathered
at the gates; tremble at their own risk
because your heart can't handle an unsteady hand:
it's filled to the brim.
And as the tourney dies down,
as the men scratch the surface
and leave with pieces of your arms,
your eyelashes, your cheeks,
there will be one
who is there when the dust settles.

Allow him to love you,
in a most consuming way; let him
take your body a shrine and let him
call it his only home.

Finally,
break his heart,
and watch as the poetry
spills out of you like
an angry river, from a spear
he wishes he'd hit into your chest
not cupid's arrow instead.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Noon.* We are closest at Noon, when
the sun is cruel and when I teach you
how to tell when a girl wants a kiss. I've
built a wall between us; now be a dear

and lean against it. As the sun hammers
onto our heads, I reflect upon how difficult
the word Noon must be to pronounce in
your precious French mouth. You feel self-

conscious about your accent well guess what
so do I and I've been encumbering this
freedom-infested continent since 2001. You

try to dig out a groove in the wall - but you
see, when I built it I made sure it was so
sturdy we'd die against it. This is *Noon.

Dawn.* God, I still can't accept the fact
that it's almost morning, and you're
almost gone; you are only ever with me-
around me -when I close my tired eyes.

And then, during what feels like a
lifetime, we sleep so close together
we could be one body, one heap of
flesh under the warm and heavy covers.

But you're not here, and you're not
in my coffee when I get up either;
you're not outside when I open the

window; you're not alive when I
dial your number. At dawn I dislike
(re)discovering that you aren't real.

Release all the words from your stringent heart,
And lose the hush tonight,
We talk! But look, we edge apart
when honest words take flight.

Don’t make up feelings: I know you’re bluffing.
When is it we lost hold?
We say so much and yet say nothing
but echo what we’re told.

I believe we should feel more.
You wouldn’t dare to cage wild birds:
communicate the inner roar,
And don’t you dare hold in the words.

Release them from your tense black heart.
And don’t you dare hold back for me,
and don’t you dare leave out a part,
for what we’ve seen we’ve yet to see.