It is

not

about

what is

said

It is

about

what

is

heard

He

he was a

fawn

and

I

I was a

poet

a

lifetime

ago

straining

to stand

he

he

cantilevered

and

I

I

was an

oak

in a deep

green

forest

he

preened

rubbing

his

pelt

against

my

bark

now

a lifetime

past

he

he

continues

to

roam in

deep

forests

and

I

I

am

moored

alone

on

prarie

Love

comes

as the

wind

silent

and

moving

it

comes

as the

wildfire

burning

and

consuming

it

comes

as the

stars

twinkling

and

calm

it

comes

as the

sleepy

naps

it

comes

as the

small

giggles

of

tickles

it

comes

as the

sunrise

fresh

and

bright

it

comes

as the

halo

of

your

hair

burgundy

and cherry

it

comes

as the

moon

full

and

round

and

curious

love

comes

as the

tide

washing

ashore

and

retreating

love

comes

I search

a darkened

room

for

the other

half

of my

heart

I hear

it

knocking

behind

walls

of flesh

my heartbeat

keeping

time

like

the tides

hidden

I draw

my palms

across

the plains

of torsos

across

mountaineous

chests and

waterfalls

of stomachs

pulsing

growing

louder

I

reach

but

never

find

the heart

that

beats

as

mine

My heart

is moored

in Charlotte

and cramps

like overworked

calves

stuck

in a place

thousands

and thousands

and thousands

of miles

away

no closer

than

the moon

surely

it beats

but only

by half

the other

half

beats

where he

is or

they

are

a metronome

at half

speed

longing

replaces

breath

squeezing

my chest

like a heavy

rock

tears roll

down

like opaque

avalanches

wetting

old

yellowed

photographs

of sunny

days

when we

smiled

and danced

in

moonlight