Ivory sailcloth of the nuptial bed, the last fantasia, pulsing, lit.
I was besotted with the fever of the setting free.
Feedbag of meal, the feeling of oats, so soft at the muzzle of me.
Then they moved me to a sow-shaped exurb; I did not prosper there.
If you would leave at daybreak, by night I’d wait for you, at everywhere.
Your licensed massage therapist
Loves you more concretely than I do. I, abstract, adoring, distant
And unsalvageable. She said, Give up, be palpable—all Hand.
I took to the tawny river and swam into the theater
Of the darkened chamber music hall.
I loved with all my heart my fear.
You were just an hallucination on my own slow way to sea.
On the common, there were swans
Pretending to be boats that carried people
Who imagined they felt joy.