It's easy to forget,
To become lost.
To sidestep this wound,
To smile,
To subvert,
To walk away.
To reject the pain of being a man.
To choose my monstrous shadow,
A cocoon.
Pale and absent.
Without consequence.
Without emotion.
Without need.
To stride across burning bridges.
Impervious.
And
never
look
back.

My heart is a bloodhound,
Relentless in nature.
Bounding giddily toward oblivion.
Without remorse
or comprehension.
My heart is a hammer,
Blunt, forceful.
Each obstacle in its path
a nail.
My heart is driftwood,
Lost among the waves,
Ebb and flow —
Futile.
Without destination.

This regret,
This division.
Love's exit wound.
A fragmented heart —
Good but now damaged,
Weary.
Buckled under the weight
Of sweet intention.
Perfect vows.
Empty exhalations
In crystal air.
Beautiful in their impotence.
Hurried
last
gasps.
Needles in skin.
Pricking tenderly,
A gentle torment.
Like lips on skin.

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
    enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
    enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everyday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

In you I knew love.
Not the tired fumblings of ecstasy.
Not unreal in expectation.
Never staged,
Unrealistic.
But something new —
Handmade,
Resplendent.
Warmth, shelter, nourishment.
Fever, passion, majesty.
Acceptance, forgiveness, rebirth.
Endless gifts!
How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.

All things move toward their end.
Now without you.
In mourning,
A final lesson.
Your happiness is my true desire.
I'll be here.
Always.
Remember me,
My love.

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean—
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.