Oh, it is scary. Mad
deliberate to know
nothing, yet to rush
the concrete under me
into movement.
Even my awkward hands
go everywhere but still,
eager without me,
to slip back into
romance tonight.
Clearly, she is here,
and I think of lake water,
afternoon slicks of sun,
records in the attic,
some lost college joy,
gone to heartache.
My precarious memory
empties the night
of everything but light-
polluted pink and wind.
Yet, I am still not hollow.

04/01/2008

Posted on 04/02/2008
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