If only the deepest pool
Were just an inverse mountain top,
Or if my antennae tickled deep
Into the sleep I feel inside.
Sometimes I think
There is a world that interlocks with this
Where all else is,
Where all else is. And to shiver,
And to sigh with life, and die,
Is there to live, and gasp in breath,
And be still. Still,
If we could bottle god, and drink him
(or, of course, her) down in a dram
And drain all godless thought,
And forget Abraham...
All rhyming lines would then cease
To make sense. Meaning, I think,
Is often built like a fence that we
Must leap like sheep, counted
In another persons dream, to get to sleep and,
When we get there, breathe thin air.

last night, nude bar

We stood up. I don’t know—was I breathing or not breathing all that time? We had been speaking into each other’s eyes all those hours. I’d been in the leather chair couched in the loud dark bar; there we were sitting back touching hands in that dim loud bar, talking, until we stood up and he laid his hand on my upper arm and then we were falling toward each other, held, a hold that was both fleeting and lasting, touched, and when it came apart before we wanted, he said something quickly before I had a chance to say something quickly, and we both knew.