If I should fall a thousand steps into your arms,
will they not wait? For I
let not Cassiopeia move beyond her throne
to encroach my bed.
                                       Let gravity
seek its master upon my feet
and warm itself in my slippers,

carry me through curtains
and clouds of deceit to reach a haloed moon
in an airless night. If I

should wait a thousand years for a single step into your arms,
will they not open? For I
let wide the gates and fiery the oil

to relinquish the kingdom and forge
against the current into the quiet distance.