For all of you, and for a dear friend whose heart is sore:

Brooklyn Museum, Artist TBA, Spring 2014

Wane

The moon waxes just above the water towers

And an engine hums out

a racing

Toward what?

Tomorrow, next year…

Toward an end

That isn’t yet here

And the pain of it

Not yet started –

Something we must

Race past

Even if it means

An early conclusion.

Your legs reach around the globe

And back to me,

Pain falling from your toes

Into my mouth like rain.

I consume you

Like a desert thing

That has known only heat and rock.

Then you came along,

A river running through it-

To know me,

To hold me,

To show me I was already yours,

Made to fit in your arms,

To sleep under your chin,

To come home to you

In sun, in rain,

Under moon, under stars,

To hold your heart,

Tender in my hands of clay,

So cool, so made of mother,

I will always protect and kiss it.

Today, tomorrow, always

Because yours is the heart

Made for me.