All of our stuff is tangled together
like our eyes when we met
legs and arms and fingers lonely and loosened
only paintings and books and kitchen herbs
photos and words that can’t be undone
stuck in the lubricious agony of love.
There will never be an undoing of this in me
there will never be an easiness with this.
There will never be a door or window
cracked a bit in me again.
The feather you found
the leaf I caught in the morning light.
Words and words and
Early Sunday morning
gamble of confessions.
Trying to be me
was too hard to take on.
I cannot bear myself day after day
you cannot bear my excavating the true you.