against
the closed
window; on
the coffee
table —
steam from
the two cups
is the only
significant
movement
in this room.
then,
the rising
and falling
of your chest
next to me.
how and when
am i making
this life?
is this it?
how and when
can i give
you love?
is this it?
daylight has
gone and
come again;
the chinese
silver grass
has survived
the snow.
in new day,
we have
made new
home on a
porch; on a
balcony; on
an old second-
hand sofa;
dusted and
loved again.
crawled under
a white table,
you have tried
to fold yourself
into nothing —
"you couldn't
stay small if
you tried"
how and when
are you making
this life?
is this it?
the maple tree,
autumn-colour
trousers,
soaring choir,
chocolate
pecans,
a flask
found;
a life lost,
cornfields,
sirens,
a wooden
cigar box,
roads and
stories that
lead to places
unnamed and
unknown
are all in
an endless
loop on this
conveyor belt.
we are here;
waiting for
the end of
this day.
beginning
of this
morning;
you will
wake up
any
moment
now.
how and when
can you give
me love?
when you
ask me to
hold you,
i hold myself.
this is it.