from Small Geometries
Cento with Heartache
“What’s most heartbreaking
is the rib piercing this lung. That I’m
as breathless as this
over nothing.”
—Olena Kalytiak Davis
Of this sweet, tender feeling, I was wrong.
There. That’s the hard part. I wanted.
There. I love you, I love you
into an octave only blood can decipher.
Let me call the scene an insurrection.
Let’s call you mirage.
I am so poor before you. A grackle,
the morning light and light at the end
of the implements---steam
cathedral. In anger, as in desire, it was
a puncture, a black and wicked door,
but it made my heart a safe place for music.
Not out of necessity, but of abundance.
My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken after all.
I’ve forgotten, nearly, what I’ve meant
and now you say you love me and I stand
even our cruelty towards one another
because we know distance too well,
my misfortune on a leash made of gold
like a question we keep asking each other.