The mystique of interpenetrations
when alone is so much
more together
alone…
To serve your target eye
or fall to the conversant me
in all peripheral
extremities.
I’ll convalesce in madness from afar
or hold my sanity
inside a luminescent
jar.
My bounding was too sensible
because too mad for you
—my compromise with rhythm
had to leap its ruinous dive
to become the essence
of the lover
alone and swimming
backwards
though bare and thinking canyons
with negligees on trees
speared flowers
for the moon,
whose play is far too large
for humans and their grieving,
their need to fly away
in pairs
to not become responsible,
to lose something
and say that they’ve
been found
having so deprived themselves
of love
they find it
in another
who looks at them
with eyes that hold the world
but crave to know themselves
through other worlds
in smirkings
of a moon
that bares
its scars.
Still, horses cross the sky
and even I must carve my
naked purple
out of moon,
my love comes from
adjacent room
a million miles
within
but even she,
despite her
otherworldly blooms,
immortal songs,
who’s waited outside time
to breathe as one,
must bless me with
forgiveness first—
I the holy
stand before
confessor priest
so I can feel.
