i have worked so hard—worked so long—to arrive
in this place where you are everything i am.
will you pull me out of this city? will you tell me who i am?
after years maybe i am willing—or is it
too tired to say no, too broken
to work against your knowing, learning hands—
i wonder, does the work go to waste?
i have been so afraid, i have been hard pressed
to protect and preserve my self.
do i cede myself to you? what does this grant accomplish?
where i am land—traversed, seismic,
built and rebuilt in a thousand ways—you are
water, blood of my veins, spit of my mouth,
the river that is never quite tamed.
i could build bridges but i
have known too many storms, will not extend myself
for structures that can be torn down.
you make a canyon out of me, i am all echoes,
a long low coyote howl
of loneliness and discontent.