Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Reading Time

This love affair has lasted longer than we thought it would.

If we thought about it at all,
We thought mostly with our fingers
And our hands,
With quick breaths
And naked, arching, limpid throats.
With fast-and-furious,
With slow-and-deliberate,
We thought around the possibility of time.
We thought we could act ourselves

But we are still in this place,
This demanding and insistent love affair…
A place where the words we use
Sleep next to us,
Rather than the partners we chose,
Years ago.
We are locked into place
By syllables
And analysis.
This is a prison.
We did not make it,
But (we must admit)
We sang.
We were the canaries—
Thinking (with our tongues and with our legs and with our wrists and elbows)
That this place would have to,
Would absolutely have to,
Ever So Slowly
With Time.

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