We have been here before, tethered

to this silence.  The tides softening
into retreat.  Wasn’t it always about
retreat, the small pivot of the trigger
and the release.  A finger on a petal,
a tongue almost wishing.

Just give me a moment to set this

memory to bone so in the years to
come these marks will not be mistakes
for animal gnawing.  To gauge the wind
with a hasty fist of grass.  To linger
long enough.

You are tired, your breathing bottoms

out into long pauses.  I can dream until
I sleep




.