i've been frozen for days.
i looked for my fingers inside your palm
and we both came up empty handed.
i remember you whispered something stupid
and i trembled weightlessly balanced
on anticipation;
fell from the wire and hung myself with it.
and so what if this one doesn't rhyme,
even you can't be beautiful
all the time.

this is me sitting in the back seat of a car
finding the sky through a foggy window,
finding constellation through a cloudy night,
finding consolation where none is in sight.

you never knew my thinking fell short of obsession,
that falling for you is like a fucking infection;
i want to to tattoo your hand to my lower back,
you are beautiful, but you already know
this is a fact.
hand-to-condensation, I truly hate this conversation,
but I'll have it while I map out the stars-
finding constellation through someone else's sight,
finding consolation where there is none tonight.

i could have said these things about anyone,
but amidst a million lies, you sounded like the truth.
i won't force my heart into your palm,
careful not to kiss you good-night or look too long.

The drive home: knuckles-white, fingers-frozen--
You are a most lovely reason to be miserable.
Even lovelier not to care.
I am firing off arrows but you are
out of my range. I can never hold you;
you're like a water pistol in december-
fired off and frozen in mid-air.

(2004)