it is fearful, but we crave new beginnings

know I want to read in the silence of the library
that belongs to only our collective hands.

you will prop your feet up on my two legs
and we will drift through worlds
while never moving anything but pages.

do you hear that in the distance? the echoing siren?
the sailor’s call? the warning?

i barely do anymore. (you are my world.)

i move nothing if I have not moved you.
it is true, I am consumed by love.

but the language of this place has always been a little maddened.

do you hear that in the distance?
is it not a downpour? radio static? tree roots unwinding?
is it not the kind of rain that washes away?

maybe the light has come to apologize for
leaving, but all the anecdotes become leeches on its tongue;
i can hide nothing through the window.

it even looks a little new. a little like a beginning.

you will not bat an eye.
your fingers will trace the line on the page in front of you.

‘‘and if it is not me you are running to let the running be the quickest route to freedom. and if your legs decide to carry you to me, let our love never feel like quicksand.’’

(you are my world.)