i am fickle as blooms,
as breath, as the instant bravado of a mud puddle.
i pass, ungingerly, into the room where you are,
muscling my shoulders past the door, insinuating
my briefly daring body square on the mattress, dancing
a rapid, rabid tango. no wonder you can't quite believe
i am in it for the long haul.
am i the only one who sees the stretch of this equinox,
the calendar of my heart, this unbending season spilling,
incalculably, in the next?
come here. ignore my foolish, rhythmless feet.
rest your eyes on my open hands.
they will be here, no matter where,
or how long, you look.