in my imagination you are;
in my heart, you are not.
questions are a shield,
insecurity the sword and i
am an efficient killer.

i grow an ever-longer list
of your suspense and connotation:
weather, rhythm, sex,
the moon and a dozen things
which whine, softly, your name.

desire for ballast
works well until fulfillment,
when the strings are cut,
and the journeyman must go:
wanderer, minstrel, raider.

kneeling in the water,
lapped at by a thousand fish
unseen by two thousand blind eyes,
i view you better in discomfort
and the clarity of predation.