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03 November 2014

For all of you, and for a dear friend whose heart is sore:

Brooklyn Museum, Artist TBA, Spring 2014


Wane

The moon waxes just above the water towers
And an engine hums out
a racing
Toward what?
Tomorrow, next year…
Toward an end
That isn’t yet here
And the pain of it
Not yet started –
Something we must
Race past
Even if it means
An early conclusion.




Your legs reach around the globe

And back to me,
Pain falling from your toes
Into my mouth like rain.
I consume you
Like a desert thing
That has known only heat and rock.
Then you came along,
A river running through it-
To know me,
To hold me,
To show me I was already yours,
Made to fit in your arms,
To sleep under your chin,
To come home to you
In sun, in rain,
Under moon, under stars,
To hold your heart,
Tender in my hands of clay,
So cool, so made of mother,
I will always protect and kiss it.
Today, tomorrow, always
Because yours is the heart
Made for me.


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