I was real quiet when
I closed
that door.
You smile like bro-ken glass
and walk like the newspapers left on subway benches-
we've watched them float
like dandelion seeds
while the train brought in its
catch of businessmen.
Do you remember?
I was real quiet, understand,
when I wept and you were sleeping
there beside me.
Do you know you talk in your sleep?
It's wonderful and terrifying-
you are screaming and crying
and reaching like a newborn,
and I want to save you.
I want to lift you
up and out
with my kisses
and my arms.
But I touch,
and you're wide awake.
You stare, and I stare,
and I want to tell you I love you,
and that I'll kiss you up and out,
but you've already closed
that door.