Now that you have gone you are forbidden
to tell me where you are.
I live on Field Service Post Cards,
reverie, and the belief
that we are inviolable and eternal
and matter. The big
What I want are the soft parts of your body.
Where I stood watch, at your flank, alert,
behind the warm berm of your rib,
close as breath, looking
out at the blank expanse
you would have to cross.
When I think of you my whole body
Reprinted with the kind permission of New Directions Publishing.