On Love

Hungry Window
Hungry window
whetted with wind
colder made the wall’s white skin

The apron trembled
The sash undone
The bottom railed
The pane cracked

But the stool still stood—
where she lingered yet
not yet
ready to touch.

But the aching call
of whetted wind
at the hungry window

Never coming
ever coming
in

Caught breath whining
at the window

At the window
wanting

in, in, in.


The Last
The last to leave my bed:
Empty Space
Would you were another head.

A hot human. A melting man.
Instead
Pillow—you are dead;
I hear no heart—
Night sounds depart

And Loneliness no longer wed
Be the first to leave my bed.


At Daybreak’s Dusk
In bed,
cover me.

No,
with your arms—
the ones that do not hurt.

And for—
give my sadness.
I cannot write on these sheets—

Of you

Tear tears but not my
fears that you will not
banish my nightmares
of your leaving with

you’re—the—
light

will not, like this,
be lightly salted
but blood bathed

in bed.


Love Less
Because I cannot love you less,
once broken: break me
love and then leave
was never love

If you part,
ask me to part
take me apart
take a part of me

Ask me to be just as
hole if you—have me!
all
or not at all

But

Do not love me in these bits!


Love Her Not
Where would you love?
How many times and how?
Before her shoulder blade would cut—
It would—your back.

When would you love?
What for and why?
Before you pushed so hard and deep,
She felt you in her sleep.

You make love to her,
But you don’t.
Lover—not love her

That you won’t.


Teach me to remember
thou canst not teach me to forget --Romeo & Juliet 1.1.230

Teach me to remember
That my swan is a crow

Teach me to remember
That the heart is my foe

Teach me to remember
That wanting is only woe

Teach me to remember
That grief will never go

Teach me to remember
That nothing is so low

As hearing in answer
To one’s Yes—

Resounding No!


Beneath the Night
Beneath the night, I said goodbye to your sad eyes.
Your eyes know every way to say sad.

The faded brightness of the bus, held our hands, held our hearts
And still only your eyes drooped—
Never your lips.

Not in a kiss.
Not in a word.
Not even a sound

To say what your eyes did
but I could not assume.

And that bus,
that jewel of light lonely on the streets of Buenos Aires,
Forever carries our unrealized love on its cracked seats.
Our love sits on opposite sides of the bus and stares at itself.

The bus was worse than empty as it let our bodies out—

It is haunted,
because we could give no better place
For our love to live.


Almost You
I sat by you
on the bus today.
Well,
almost you.

Your hair was darker, and your eyes were brown,
but your shoulders shoved forward expectantly,
and you rested your right ankle on your left knee,
like you sometimes do.
You were wearing glasses, too,
and I think you were a little taller,
but you still made room for me
on the seat next to you.

And—
even though you smiled at me—
I could have sworn it was you
looking out at me
from your unceasing silence.


I could never love you enough
I could never love you enough

Had I an infinity of days,
My kisses would crumble
Before your lips

My heart would beat itself
To beat itself
With yours

These arms could never
Embrace you enough
To hold you enough to me

I could never love you enough

Had I a countless way