In Isolation

I.

Fitfully, I turn my brass key and lurch forward into bedlam and
my right is my left and you are beside me and without me all at once
streaming from me abundantly, a spring untapped by hands of man
you stab me with feathery eyes though you do not touch my fumbling skin

And I think that I love you but my fear of the words hinders me
turning me to salt or stone or an ungainly mixture of both
there is a pulsing burn inside these ribs of bronze and
I feel more than I care to, buckling in a failing fire

Look forth, kindly, with your opal eyes, for
though I cannot possess you with my hands
my deepest being cradles yours gently, a
sphere of calcite or shell or unbendable bone

In the pasture of my minds eye, you melt into the flowing green sod
a creature for which love knows no bounds
but I curl, carelessly, an arched child denouncing fear but
suffering more than she can stomach, being human

II.

I shout over you, a barreling bull whose
eyes see nothing but know everything
and then we are slow and conjoined
your breath accelerating and I see
you are uselessly running in place

I lurk in the gloom; you are fighting a steady battle
and the mirror and tile are your allies
the bottle abandoned and the intake reversed
your knees touch down, then hands,
and torso, cold on the carpet

I am in motion, terrified and in love
asking for your help though you have forgotten why you came
and your sobs wrack me like a strange child’s cries
echoing down the hallway, into the void
I grip your hand and my words burst forth

Three hours pass in sedation, and
you turn for me in slumber
In our reverie, we are hungry
so we consume and discount our every want
I recline with aching shoulder on fire and

My memory cannot ease the undying sting nor
the damage your absence will cause me

17 May 2011