Before you were ready
you took to the sea
and I smiled at you
with the fine white teeth
of a shark
Before I was ready
your hands harbored me
in deep water and stars
where my wrinkled soul
swaying and slow
opened its foam-grey eyes
Sleep and sway and constancy
rain, two steady days, then three--
the horses crackle through the leaves
and stamp away the mud.
Brown grass lies tired, over-grazed,
bit down from roots to dirt
but winter lends her sympathy.
Her breath, the sharp-edged air;
her arms, the gaunt-limbed trees;
she paces, slow
where field mice cross themselves
against the shadow of the wing
and sacrifice their young.
I go wordless, spellbound
trading bravery for sleep,
alone and sound; a bed
where I abandon you,
the livid world I sought,
I find
that I was never yours
and you were never mine.