Author Information
Biding Time
I want you to know
One thing.
You know how this will go.
If I look
At the pock-marked moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window.
If I touch
Near the fire,
The impalpable ash
Or the wrinkled body of the log
Will the cosmos wink back.
As if everything that exists;
Aromas, light, metals;
All the elements of this alchemy
That makes you,
Were but little boats
That sadly sail
To the isle of your savage abode.
Where you wait for me,
Looking for the quiet moments
Between ticks
To pounce and claw this skin.
