my city is brittle tonight. all crackling and rustling..perhaps snow on the way. reading a history of europe and delighting in facts i didn’t know. surrounded by paintings and christmas lights. half-heartedly making a mixtape and perhaps a swig of whiskey before i turn up my collar and find my way to somewhere warm and full of people i don’t know. i want to wrap my arms around you all.
In the handed-down inventory of love’s habits
we find images of lowering: down at the mouth,
down on the knees, prostrate with the shock of the marvelous.
Contact more than shame-faced with the elevated figure
is therefore impossible; hazard more
than a bow, and a trapdoor opens beneath you;
offer a hand, and see love disappear.