The dark side of lovers sighs

I have looked in dresser drawers, in closets, in hidden compartments
of lintels, in the sideways glance of old mirrors or the creak of old stairs

In search of you

I walk in and out of so many rooms, some empty, others filled
with dreams that are not mine.

I stand under a black umbrella in the falling rain tracing
my desire for you. At night I read dusty books in longing for you.

Sitting on porches or stoops I try to make out your face in the shapes
of clouds. I have sent post to random addresses that I steal

from pay phone phone books, write you long letters
about quotidian days and the frustration of burnt toast.

Wanting to find you, I have lain on the dark side of lover’s sighs,
in dark women’s beds, looking for you; disappointed because they were

not you.

So I stop, while waiting in the rain for an empty train,
and build a fire in the midst of my longing, study the long migrations

of birds and the theories of chance, learn to close my eyes
and to dance instead of tremble to the music that comes from

the wound in my side.

Learn to walk light hearted among the dead, those wanting so desperately to send love letters to anyone

who will read them-surrender myself
to the orbits of portentous stars and to wonder….

and wondering,

Is it you?



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