Sometimes in drifts
Battalions, then other times
(What DOES it mean to PERCH in the soul?)
Tying that knot twenty times
(each fifth grader knew exactly the nature of hope)
Sadness is the great mathematician.
after door’s click my eyes closed
the cliche in me wanted to remember the night past when
we tight in rose hip fist of limbs pining exhausted ending ate the rest of us alive,
then some eggs.
To will breath is
too overwhelming, now.
Hum of refrigerator, deafening
So sadness and I, we count the white lights
circling the tree
covered in feathers (sings the tune without)
backs of cut up greeting cards
I do not think I will,
I think, perhaps, (she said)
I am too tired to do this more.
But (she said)
The curve of your waist is so lovely, more petite and paint-worthy
Than that of the soldier, the scholar.
I never should have learned the line of it.
Perhaps (she recanted) it is best a part
of the sweetness you showed me once
On a boat,
on a small journey
To some island
or some other where (she laughed)
most likely in my wildest fancies.
The ragged white of the back of her hand shivered, slight
she drew from memory the relief of the familiar
what is was to be sure of herself
closed her book
took one step.