There was no end to it. Desire.
It took moments, monstrous moments. Desire.
He made a sandwich and put on piano music.
She wanted him to say what he meant to say
not what he said he said. He sliced it in half.
There were preparatory warnings
in the form of insects on the windowsill,
desiccated in the globular bellies
of the overhead lights. Desire and fear of desire.
That dust stirred up. The toothpicks shoved in
and something like flames above their heads
in versions of holiness, of yearning in flames
and those folded white napkins.
I wish you’d just say yes, just stroke
my hand with yours. They were trying
to have lunch on the lawn. Simply, someone said,
simply tell us when you began to feel like this.
Think of a place, the rooms by the water,
sun mizzling at the window, the usual
rubble, the dog locked out, braying.
I didn’t know how alone I was
until they brought out more chairs.
Now where are you? I was feeding the birds
and it was terrifying as if for a second
live coals were put in my mouth
as in truth I once axed a beehive
and they flew in me, in my mouth, swarming.
Oh fear, oh my kingdom, I am afraid
of even birds, of all they’ve come to mean
of loss, their pink retreating feet. Afraid
of fog, gentle fog, afraid of your face
that day drunkenly I drug in the boat
on its mooring rope and you refused to enter.
Look, I’m trying. First we were on a beach
then in a house interspersed with memories.
Forget the other him and her. First we were on a beach
and I kept trying to say what I wanted.
In the garden someone had plucked the petals
from the flowers, carefully and with conviction.