11/29/16
I woke up thinking about a phone call
in which you told me you wanted
only me
and used the word "puppy."
Very often bed is hard to leave.
Today rain's left
a dark shine on everything.
I open blinds to this
//
and try to trace back
to your last appearance.
You call me a garden.
You join me over the pot
to watch fish ovaries burst
and bloom.
You give me
mosquitoes on the river,
not wanting to leave me out.
We touch so much it hurts
to touch, so touch
more gently.
I don't find the secret. I don't find
the clue.
For me, my love,
it was not gradual.
