I have fallen in love with softness
(have I done the right thing?)
With the pull of the evening’s low tide
The ashen debris of the fireside
With all that hides
between the world and its shadow.
Soft lisp slipping its lullaby
beneath my skin,
over my stilted pulse
my steely veins;
whispering its softness into song,
trying to melt me from inside out.
Have I done the right thing?
You are so gentle I forget myself.
But sometimes I think I would rather die erect than
collapse; I turn away from your face,
then remembering the feeble, lightless death
of the slug I stepped on last week,
Know I will not share its hideous fate.
Am I a right thing?
Would I surrender the strength of my spine;
do I dare to recline?
Do I dare let the poem go silent,
or must I resuscitate its breath,
I scorch myself into thought.
This will kill me someday;
my vertebrae refuse to melt. They
are a hundred spills of water,
heavy, blue, blue. Meet, and
You dampen the syncopated beat of
my heart. Where we come
To lose is such a heaven.
I have fallen in love with your dim,
your mute, your tender,
The muffled hum of our hymn,
I think. (I acquiesce,
In wintertime, at the frozen river
where I watch the whiteness gather,
The snow touches the ground and makes a sound,
I am sure of it. Too soft to hear,