Your curls are dark under my fingers, In sleep you stir, saying yes, Affirming a bond between our bodies: Warmth I steal from you under blankets. I am cold, kinetic, carved in motion Against my piano, pale as the cracked keys. You are eternally warm, an olive tree, Solid, sinuous streaks down your dark bark. Balance perches precariously between us: You flame, I dash you with cold words; I crystallize, ice structures form around you, Melting in a pool of our tears. I love you like the mourning dove her mate. I follow you in flight, hovering nearby, Stunned by the beauty of your wings, Drawn to your lonely call, your lovely sad eyes.
The I Ching sometimes lies. It reflects back to me fears, Distorted, splotching my self-image Like the brown crackles in my bathroom mirror. Feelings, lurking under images of peace, Scurry into view like roaches in a cupboard When a sudden movement disturbs them. But I shall make my journey to the south, To carry on the work in the heat of the sun And let my sweat wash my fears into the dust, My emptiness become as rich as the hills of the earth.
