Now, I love less than before.
It’s the only way.
I shape-shift into a stranger,
Lonely as an unthread needle.
I hold back my body,
Not quite dead.
Offer tiny crumbs of myself,
Enough for the birds.
My heart wears a glove.
A pulse in silk,
A pulse in silk,
And like a lady,
I remove one finger at a time.
My body rests in a beehive
Where workers swarm,
Company for a fallen queen,
Sweetless as a conquered kingdom.
And when I dance, it’s with myself,
Hurricane feet and dervish hips,
Whirling to my string and bow.
A fury of song.
I am harnessed like a horse
Gripping reigns, afraid to gallop
to that place where love takes over,
Full and splendid,
A tangled mess unwinding
Always to a darkened room.
I am a pilgrim travelling slowly,
A changeling in flowers,
Stopping where the kindness is,
Avoiding strangers and the woman
I once was; feckless, proud,
as open as unknowing.
I am an infidel to love,
Hardly here,
Confined to seeking.
Hiding what is left.
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