You are a place of eerily lit cedars
and snow that falls in May
as piano charges quietly next to strings
in darting notes like fireflies
so thick they surround my head
and make me swim and

You said we are meaning making machines
and I thought in a wave of something breathless
how I wished some things be true and full of meaning
as if meaning could be color or weight or density

Wake up and follow me like fingertips making way down your spine
and I will disband love and laughter to mark the path from March to me

You are the weight of wet sheets
strung from head to hip
in folds and folds and folds
and when I move to meet you
in sharp angles with
hips moving like greased hinges
it is a kind of love

These children terrify me
facing me in rows
fragile order and alignment
tensile thread crisscrosses the room
forever stretching and giving
more inches and more miles

You may remember
sleeping in your clothes
on my bed with me next to you
and waking like a shot had gone off
noticing through hair in your eyes
the sun was catching up to