Premature Offering

Why do I miss you so much
when the sun is filtering through
grape vines that we used to dance through
as if we were flesh?

Why did you offer yourself up
as the lamb
to all my sacrifice?
Why did I?
We were so blemished.

I ran the vines tonight in my shoeless feet
and the dirt was softer than sand
so much so
I floated on it. I swear I did!
The moon rose, and the sun set
simultaneously! It was beautiful.
At least it would have been
if you had seen it.

That woman from across the continent...
she should have been you
but she wasn't
so she sang your heart instead
and it came to me on a westward wind.

I felt you
sort of.
I wanted your arms.
I needed them more.

Behind The Curtain

I think that’s what you did.
You pulled back the curtain and I saw the next layer
maybe the universe beyond that.

Was it you or I, believing
that I could draw the drape,
shut my eyes
and not feel my hearts wanderlust?

Such is a futile exercise
I have engaged like an occupation.
At first I was glad for the job.
Something to do. If there is a doing thing
then there is an undoing possible,
an erasure of the new errand
my soul convulses with.

I was fascinated.
You were delightful
and I sometimes wonder if I shall wake
knowing it the concoction of a dream.
But my dreams die quickly in the morning light
and this has been a slow death,
returning with the lunar consistency
of the living dead.

I am the watch tower
that waits within the definition of insanity
and when the immortal appears
I feel sane.