In the drawer
my love is folded
like playing cards.
I turn this over
and find myself lost
in the open space of possibilities.
Frightened by the hardness of being,
wanting this to go, along with the
pat on the back and good cheers of courage.
Wanting my pulse still for a moment
and all bloodties mended and forgiven.
In the books I read
I think myself a new person.
I am there, just after the French Revolution,
in the parlours and prisons. I am not
lonely, but freed of reproach, sending
a gift of light to all my enemies.