I’m afraid to

tell you                              I’m afraid,

                 I hear you

 

say. But give me          a sword &          I will

 

                                                   find the soft

spot on

                 the dragon

                                                                     casting

 

               the shadow where your voice keeps

               crying out. I want to tell you I keep

 

the sound of your voice

                                      saying

               my name

               in a secret

drawer                       near my bed where

 

                                                                      you’ll never find it,

 

                                                   if only because

I like                           to watch

          you     looking

               for

 

                           the parts of you you think

I’ve kept. I want                 your       knees

                             to kiss     the dew

 

                           here in

the most tender

                                              pasture.        Tell me:

                                        the

                                                                                   grain

                                                         will only

 

be golden until

                                        it becomes

                           nothing                    more than

                                                           bread. Or, Go

        on. I’m still

                                      listening. I’m                           right here.

 

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