Above me you turn like an acrobaton blue string,your feet small and accurate.You are so far away.My love is not enough to pull youthrough the landscaped skyto this night-wet garden.
It is February.The bulbs are shooting,the moon is slippingdripping stars, hot and sticky.
I am not with you, this simple fact.Here, I am alone,climbing from my underground incubationcalling your namelike dewdrop, crocus,narcissus.Tonguing the raw tender air.
I miss you. Here and now,this moment,my body opens just one way,the way of the garden moving towardsmorning, towards March,June. Soon spring, that darling --Soon you, marking every cell of me.
