Too long between measures—gallicas weeping, petals
wheezing. It was wrong to praise you, sight unseen, a steady glance, to know a
human, to suggest pain, pleasure, advice, darkness. We might be without—souls
freezing, to sense survival, instead of affection. A soul to its first fire, a
flame to its flicker, trying to stabilize interior—the way you neglect
yourself, makes for holiness. I was free in worship. You felt me as naïve. The
plum excitement in those curtains—each pleat, so nebulous, too concerned, over
one nonchalant. It can’t be living—to need with desperation, to retreat and
need nothing. I try to refocus you, like a child grapples with math, seized
with ambivalence, I thought you incredible. Sheer disappointment—as bending
waves, sudden into a blizzard; the anxiety of its kiss, those whispering names,
assumed it was never to escape.
