My love now and again
Is a moment of cold fusion,
A force that drives me like
Trash in the open sea towards a vacation beach,
Or as the last breath expelled in anger.
Sometimes she is as sharp as the cold
Of an outside brass knob, the one
That leads to the mysteries of the shed.
My love is at times
The warmth left in cold air,
The presence of good ghosts.
Some moments she is
The squirrel at our bird feeder
I cannot despise, the need for sustenance
Any one of the flesh understands.
I am most of the time
The unguarded presence that in a darkened room
Gives the moment its clock.
My love when I am not looking is unseen.
She grows with me each day more uncertain,
Abrasion to the soft skin of the world,
The dream of rescue.
Hold out another year.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 30 | Fall 2010