I never wanted you to show me
how tender you could be.
Booms of cargo ships at dawn,
the way you are with the world
making its way through my life
in waves. In every sound you say.
Whatever forms to your lips,
that’s what it is. Is what it’s like
to be near your words.
Your shape, shadow, name
ring out from every surface.
All the stars jittering
before a force of sound.All the light rising within.
Venus and Jupiter nearly touched that night.
Your hand on my waist, I guided my eye
up through the telescope to where I wanted
it to go. In this way, repeating pathways,
I taught myself to love what was before me.
As the planets approached conjunction
in July’s warm and clear care, we had forgotten
how far apart they actually are.
Let me be plain: I look at you again
and again. To compare me
to a compass would not be untrue,
the tenderest of forces being drawn
wholly toward you. Every twitch and nerve.
When you’re not before me, all is fog.
I can’t remember your form or the feel
of your hands along my curve. When I see
Jupiter’s markings through the glass,I realize how I’d doubted its reality all along.
Mists obscure our faces–all the faces
also obscured by buildings with wavy glass sides.
We coordinate our disconnection,
moving from pole to pole.
The way you walk away from me
indicates the presence of a force.
Your reflection noting my
movement or vice versa.
Hundreds of bodies crowding streets,
determined to reach destinations.
Loneliness is louder here among cars
and chatter and apparent success.
But I cast myself forward
to the place you are, and though your form
glides over the glass of my eye, I found
no sure port there where I could rest.
You are not there and cannot be
where I am like two points of water
racing down the same stream,intimately related and apart.