The days are getting longer again.
These are our first longer days.
When you arrived it was already getting colder.
It is that sign of life we feel most viscerally -
a pulse is academic, misted glass echoes flummery -
it inheres in the body as life itself.
Do they say the alcohol burns?
It makes itself known, throat-searing or
curling up in my belly like a pile of drowsy kittens.
Its vapors work a change in my sight.
The last thing i wanted was desire.
Now that i've found it, here is the discovery:
Sustaining as food, yet it isn't a barren hunger
it more resembles the tendency of sprouting seeds toward the sun
or the gentle tug of gravity that holds a chick in the depths of its nest.
(what i have found is not what i was afraid of)
This taste develops, you know, the curry
we talked about this, how it matures
until your skin wants to turn heel
(you said divorce)
And a muscle pushed into use
will burn, burns, will burn.
And we say:
it is good.
The equinox is a precarious point.
Restart, restart that which doesn't stop.