we enter again
this house’s life.

the dark columns we have constructed
on the plateaus of ourselves

are full. the gates are falling.
the cups we have filled

with deceits, lies
and misunderstandings,

they, too, are shivering,
scattered like fouled engines

rising against escape.

we trace ourselves
on the margins of the mirrors,

fragmentary, jagged,
cutting across lipsticked lines

drawn around the framed
reflections of the cities.

people massing outside the bars,
fuming, torturously frail           demented.

and these are our demons:
brown barren earth,

the lost touch of neighbors whose
eyes avert in light

like fine dust filtering in fire.
remember, you are not alone in your leaving.

we all enter this nightmare
of living

in which freedom to live
has been confused with license to take

and giving slides like a child
on a swing

forever floating up
and up

the air cut with the fever of legs
thrashing in rhythm

because somehow we know
this madness dare not last forever,

inhabiting the landscape
of ourselves

like still water in motion
our bodies leaning towards each other

bearing love.