has painfully and ploddingly revealed itself,
expanding with each agonizing syllable, like poison seeds in my stomach:
"Your heart will not be sated, nor will it be seen."
A delight for you, I suppose
a sonnet to soak in, a song to hum, to play with, to whirl around your tongue;
but your feet told the story, didn't they?
they never caught flame like mine,
they never burned with each step.
Had you run to me, seeking the holy fortress of my heart,
had the noble earthen bulk of you lifted
I would perhaps love you less than I do;
but in this new year, of rain and resolution and regret,
Had you run to me, seeking the holy fortress of my heart,
had the noble earthen bulk of you lifted
I would perhaps love you less than I do;
but in this new year, of rain and resolution and regret,
I will release you,
Cooling my burning heels in the river.
(08/23/17)
