Love, please tell me
where to cast my life -
The ivoried downtown
and sleeted piers
of Washington,
where the Potomac
sleeps itself blue,
& the rows of museums
pull coffee teeth
in a closed afternoon?
Or the northside quay
& green garden walls
of Dublin, where I walked
in your hand, eyes to brim,
out to Phoenix Park
to search for the fallow deer,
but finding instead
only a debris of wind?
I'm owned by neither:
I wake each day
into a dead space
without color or shape,
only these memories -
do you remember
leaving yoga on
Connecticut Avenue,
the petrichor winding
out the night's full flower,
the nuzzling shine
of the walk?
I don't care
where it happens,
but that's what I want,
every day,
those steps home with you;
every ******* day.