mbreadblue

the beautiful, needful thing
(after Robert Hayden)

in love, there are heights where air, necessary
breadth, approaches need. no reprieve for you there.

just before he says goodbye, his interloping arms
a crooked sprawl tangential to your shoulder mass,

he tells you what a moon you are: he is a yearner
though you are a lifespan out of reach. he burns away.

this is your free; an episodic heat with him is done.
but morning comes, exacting its articulate mums.

then night again when air hangs like a body. hopeful,
ecliptic dog star, you notice lovesick chirps of crickets.

you wait in your sky for glints from lightning bugs,
pray to a galaxy goddess to banish liberty from need.

02 sept 01