Revisionist History

We can’t go back,
but there is this:
We can look back.   

It has more do
with longing than love,
is more about
a place I can’t access
than something missing.

It’s only the urge
to hold you
I can’t shake.

_

On the Approach of her Twenty-Ninth Birthday

How old were we
in the flood?
She counts the correlations
now, rising water,
arriving birds.
Hinged on a pigeon
that floated like a duck
in the tub, insistent on doing
everything she did.
The future fans before her
like a spread wing,
each year a flight,
each anomaly the hopeful
promise of success.
The present still
a handful of feathers,
unfulfilled.

_

Threnody

Now, I sense all that’s left:
the way you pulled through me
like a fine thread through cotton,
buried yourself in me
like the knot beneath the weave.
No one can see, but running a hand
over my surface
                         I can feel you there.
Holding tight.

_