Minneapolis, 2010

disappear to Beginning–
that place that can be very easy or very difficult to find
among the heaps of tears and greetings breathless, apologies after,
late dinners and early push to morning
the tangle of days and Memory that any train of thought
must somehow shovel through.

for us, steps retrace to
a finding of Afraid, the slow breath and rushing push
of knowing Vulnerable at once and together
but that wasn’t all, dear.
no– not nearly all of it
because the tracing also leads to

our discovery Joy,
holding fierce to a large black umbrella,
keeping ourselves safe from the
us-imagined storm and us-imagined cloud
as passerby on the busy street hurried along,
casting back looks of snob,
and you took my fingers in your fingers and said in a voice
puffed and pompous and barely your own,
best are the rainy days, don’t you think?
barely hiding a smile,
and I put a hand against your
face and move your mouth -all heat and wet- to mine but
before I do, respond
indubitably, my dear

and we stood
open to the great laugh of the sky,
looking, slowly, down to the knees you seldom knew
outlines vague through the haze of our buzzing thoughts
and roaming hands

before the watches in their constant twirling moved me
Fast and Far,
you still on the street,
peaceful with smile, though incomplete (I know because my smile is not against it–)
and I beat on through the days,
adding more strings and knots to the always-looping Memory

on my knees, and trading joy for sawdust.