‘i’ll take you to the
and now, with lines
of skeined heat and
eyes pass in rhymed
patterns, and words
can be seen like
small whispers. maybe,
we become and become,
gears slowing to a late
frosted sun, and a choir
of summer dry-bleeding
and an early moon, under the light of which
i fall as well to shivering petals. which
again in the late sun the notes
of steps weeping from heartbreak
squeeze through our windowpane.
more of everyone becoming everything
more of life bellowing
of life refusing
to be anything but what it is.
i immigrated to a place where no one recognizes my love.