We were pacing,
cross-eyed from the bars of our cage as we looked
at the animals,
telling them from a distance
That we loved them terribly,
truly.
For you, the matted and white-whiskered
were the dearest,
but I felt for the wooly giants, nose-at-kneecap-high,
crashing through these shallows.
We found ourselves lowered,
bowed by cravings edge-by-edge with need.
The waiting would astound us, but
(the waiting has not astounded us yet!)
Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd something not-mine that I love:
Losing Track
by Denise Levertov
away from me
I think you are still with me:
you come in close to the shore
on the tide
and nudge me awake the way
a boat adrift nudges the pier:
am I a pier
half-in half-out of the water?
and in the pleasure of that communion
I lose track,
the moon I watch goes down, the
tide swings you away before
I know I’m
alone again long since,
mud sucking at gray and black
timbers of me,
a light growth of green dreams drying.
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