Less Here

Like the clotted sky as it strains in its weight,
and loses itself in bits, as rain —
Like the grain by grain march of sand off the bar
as each rolls to the ocean floor—

Like the wood core of the log and the flame,
the embers that smolder through years of rings—

So are all my moments with you.

Last week when you brushed against my shoulder,
I think I lost at least a year, and
Two days ago, just talking, your voice grabbed me just so
—I forgot what listening to anyone else was, and

Then just last night again, I think I told a random joke, you laughed,
and I forgot everything I thought I needed to say.

I am always forgetting myself these days.

The minutes between our meetings pass as moments then hours
then days, the distance between us shrinks and swells like the tides
at the call of the moon, and my thoughts turn back to you like a
rabbit to a secret hole just before the fangs catch.

I can’t even imagine who I am anymore.

Let’s breathe me away like desperate divers on their last tank,
let’s set me alight like a midnight flare on the desert floor,
let’s rev me, race me, plunge me down the freeway until
fumes and speed and steel are all that’s left.

Hold me, please, until I’m
less here

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