sometimes feels just like

heart opening

and what you allow inside,

who do you let sneak back in,

near the bedroom window sill

glowing like bulb behind curtain

or static shock at first touch

because we have all been made feverish

in loving

and been made mad

in our wanting

but i wonder what love could crystallize into

if not a diagnosis

or a pen run out of ink

if it could stay the night

and mean it

and not run away in the middle of the jet black good night

or if she could do more than just miss you

or collect the scraps of you

or savor only parts of you

if she could glue back together the sweet porcelain of your unloving

or if she would leave you again

even after she’s gone

what could a love look like

that did more than pick-and-choose

and still never decide —

i still make mountains from

your softness,

a birdsong disappearing into the dark

my hands wrung out like plum pit,

like they never knew how to hold you,

like adorning you

in bath-watered rose petals

might make you know

you were an offering of flowers

a woman dripping in

you have me’s

suddenly gone from your tired eyes

once more

once more