we are holding hands,
because i am counting down to the end of days.

we are states apart, words breaching the distance,
affection trying to bridge the gap--

i am counting. forty, thirty, twenty, ten.
zero: nothing left to fear, nothing left to yearn for.

at the end of a long path, there is only us
standing together, holding hands.

in a silo we pile up
grain and memories,
roads traveled and
wheat and bread.

armageddon is knocking,
a wind against the door
that we lean shoulders
against to keep closed.

in a silo we dig paths,
trenches to battle from
and broad walls to
keep us safe and still.

we struggle from fields
to our keep from the wind,
hurricanes and hatred
flying after our feet.

in a silo we hold vigil
and wait for the sound,
the pounding of ascension
or of being left behind.

we wrap our coats tight
around our creaking backs
to keep the blood close
and heartbeat closer.

in a silo we make love
and tell jokes and stories,
in a silo we keep life
firmly within its bounds.

because maybe it's me:

i am not making enough sense, i am all
emotions?
it makes me strong, it makes me sing,
it makes me all words and no play,
all pain and gigantic leaps of faith.

i am too silent, i am not questioning
or understanding,
i am not even trying.

and what are you used to?
something quiet, something convalescing.
something once upon a time.

but i am learning how to
stave off the desperation,
how to pull it all together
into one concluding thought:

i am granite,
with a sandstone heart.
and you wear, and you wear, and you wear on me,
an erosion of time and space,
and the thought begins to grow:

i am wasted
and wrecked, an expansive mess to be cleaned
by antibacterial disinfectant.
i am a sweet, sticky mess,
something left behind after sex.

and if it's me,
am i not becoming clearer each day?
i am transparent, blank.

if clarity is your value, you can meet me another day
on the ocean floor:
we can lie, backs on cold sand,
and watch the typhoons rage above us.

long days, long memories.
your face is blurry in front of my eyes,
why are you swimming?
a deep ocean, wild with emotion,
tosses you towards me;
you are struggling, you are silent.
yesterday today tomorrow,
the caffeine isn't strong enough
to cover the sting,
the sugar losing saccharine whiteness
to gain a sense of pleasure--
i will feast instead on you.
your body is an offering,
your mouth is a darkened meal.

in love, out of love, above love,
everywhere we go we are always
conscious of our relationship
to love.
young love, timeless love, there is
no age to escape love,
no time or space or place
without love,
no action that can be taken
without adding to or subtracting from
or stagnating love.
we are all subjects of love,
acceding to demands and experiencing desires
that have nothing to do with us--
only love.
you and i, we are no different,
we are two drops in a long stream
with the same drops
and twists and turns as every other particle.
and in the new world,
the one that we seek around the bends,
we will break off from the stream
and exist together in roots,
in veins and leaves and air.
we will exist in life,
cooperative and cohabitating with sunshine
and rain.