march.

"I always have to be
really tired in my
soul for this to work,
right?" she said.
i couldn't look her in the eye.
i didn't want her to be right.
"I always have to be
really tired and half-way
undone to get the voice back
that really talks.
you ever think about that?
you ever think about there
being something that keeps
you from talking like one of
those one way mirrors--
where you can see your words,
but they sure as hell can't.
and no matter what your fight,
you know they'll never feel it."
"feel what?" i asked.
she kept folding, kept placing,
kept packing her things into the
suitcase she picked from the yard
the week before and answered me just
like another fold in her dress--easy--
"feel, your heart beating in your mouth.
feel your meaning in the curves of the letters.
feel the wandering in your mind as it
crashes into your heart."
i didn't want to tell her I was afraid
of that. i didn't want to tell myself
i was afraid of that. so i shifted
my seat and tugged at the braids
on the couch.
"oh, i don't know. maybe."
"that's gotta be how it is, Em.
it gotta be."
she was going in a day and a half, now.
i was resisting it, but more avoiding.
because i knew she got it,
and i know she had me.
and i knew when she left all i'd have
left was losing. and more than the notion
that someone might not feel our hearts beating,
i couldn't stand the thought of not having
something good around to break my falls.

drops.

it drops to the floor.
one-two-three
she breathes before she
bends her aching frame toward
the tile to retrieve it.
what it was, she could
never tell.
she just knew she needed it.
in her hand.
in her palms.
in the spaces in her heart
that never really filled
at the end of the day.

that was what she was reaching.
aching. wanting.
needing.
but instead, all she felt,
was the dust on her fingers.
the dust on her fingers from
the tile.
and a dream she always
swore wouldn't grow cold.
but did.

Wild Horses.

She slid behind that curve in his back
And lifted him up between her knees.
She felt him lean back against her chest
As she made her shoulders meet the backs of his,
Connecting her hands in that intertwine-way.

"I've been listenin' to that song about wild horses,"
She said in his ear, as her eyes
Rested on that spot above the top
Of the apartment with the cloud-high white
Ceilings she always dreamed about.
She gently rested her heart and her gaze
On that same place as he asked,
"Oh yeah?" But he already knew the answer.
He already knew they both needed more than this.
"Yeah," she said, easing her breath and her
disappointment into the same word.
"Why do you think that is," he inquired.
"Same reason it always is," she said.
"Same reason we get frustrated these days
And talk about runnin' away to California?
That same reason?"
"Yeah, it's always that," she said.
"I've just got too much of it, baby.
I've just got too much for a place like this."

He leaned back a little bit farther,
Resting in that he had her,
Glad she always said everything
He'd been thinking all day.
"I know, baby," he whispered.
"It's just that today I've been thinking about it,
And everytime I breathe, it feels like---
We could fly away."

They both sighed, and held a little tighter.

"It's just that, you give me strength, you know?
And now that I have it, I gotta use it."
He sighed and followed,
"I know. I know that too."
"What if we just did it?" she said.
"What if we just ran away?"

Breathing in them both he whispered,
"But baby, we already have.
We've already run away from those things."
"What if I need to be farther?" she asked.
"Then you know I'm coming with you."
"Good," she hesitated, "Because you know I need you."
"Then let's go?" he asked to the center of her eyes.
"Let me just pack a few things first?" she tried.
"Of course," he said.
And she began to stand, putting weight
On the feet and arms that had been waiting
To be free for some time now.
Heading for the suitcase, she couldn't help
But sigh a smile--
This would be the end of sad song on the radio, year.
She could feel it.