I tell you that a young man
in this library
finds you exciting. Don’t laugh.
He has seen your passion
...
Who am I in candlelight
and rain coursing down
the window pane
to seal me in this wondrous egg
...
Lying on my back
in the creek
hidden by the wet
wrap of leaves
...
What if those bleak mornings
when you are plucked from sleep
by sonorous bump and groan
and sucked into the vacuum of a black hall
...