A Poem A Day, Poem #41

something i can not touch about you rises and falls, opens and closes
around my heart, fading in and out of this musical mind i have, collapsing
like a cubist mirror on the river of memory which washes away old hands for
new touches, and though it comes and goes--this song--it can hardly be heard,
(the sound your throat made when it was waking up my name) and though its
mouth speaks and kisses, it can not feed the heart the same leaping, the jumps
and dives in the gut, the slips and slides in the chest, when you used to find
your fingers falling somewhere, anywhere across my body, and though the music
is a meandering watery flow of blurs and shadows, there is a place you still
sing when i stop for a swim in the silent stream of dreams, which allows
for no time, no limits on the landscapes we color when we hide love from
this real world, this weary chase i make, windburned and running to catch
that drink of river you painted on me with the patience of whispers and waterfalls,
all flowing back to here--right here