the density of your eyes lingering
like traces of sugar on a child's fingertips
the smell of dirt, or motor oil, or clotted blood - still sleeping on your skin
you're like a weight i'll never get tired of carrying
love
you found my voice in the midst ofd a corn field
in the crackle of a telephone line laid bare on the ocean floor
you will cover her uneven beautiful face
in coins and stretch your arms outward
and try to forgive the bastard who left you on your own again
you will yell into tunnels or empty cups
and the echo will become my dream in a night of no sleep
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