Why It's Important to Answer the Phone

The earth no longer screams to me as it did that time we were in love. Because this is where we know we are not to be, building with our hands to the earth. We shovel down until we catch the smell of dirt under the old innocence within our finger nails. I know that you're my best shot. At being what I say we were called to be. Mostly because you and I were always builders. Which was fine until this week, when I admitted that I need you more than I even need myself. Because You are my self. And you're restless, as the birds we watch crash into our dreams and seize with the tides. And I know I need to get you back to the water. I need to get me back to the earth. We need to grasp our hearts as they root into the shallow that we've found and move. Mostly to the north. Since I've seen the geese migrate and know they never stay away this long unless something's gotten lost, or they were wrong. But we're not wrong. We only know what it is to be electric. To move along.

Heart.

To know where you left your heart,
But remain forbidden
to run to it, beating,
and return it to its home--
is perhaps the greatest of all inhumanity.