ten days.

Today I went to the mountains, to walk by the creek
and be surrounded by warmer solitude.

it wasn’t far on the trail, when the feeling of your hand
in mine was missing; and the ache returned.
the memory of kindle, leaves turned transparent
insides exposed to the sun

it brought on the kinetic memory in the nerves
of your hand holding mine.

the longing, for your calluses
for your flat-end fingertips
the orange of your palms from too many carrots
the human weight under the webbing of my hands
became so unbearable

that I reached out for the nearest appendage-
an evergreen. with its platiscy feel,
held my hand in hers.
the green lace fingers bent themselves in between
my fingers. they were the lightest things.

we held hands for a while.
and it did not suffice for yours—
but it did feel like an old friend
who knows when I am sore.

the song of a room.

how tender it is to spend a night in a new room
to warmly greet the froth
& capitulation
of the bed.
to light a candle and pray
back the company
remembered by the heart
to speak up in the kitchen.

to put up the frames
patient workings of the wire
to hook on the nail.

to breathe in the new silence
smell in the new thoughts that come.
wipe a hand across the edge of a new counter.
the hot air over the tea mug
slumped in a chair that belonged to someone else
and consider

that soon these walls
will be able to predict your gestures
they will have learned you

the walls will begin to breathe more slowly
& the sound of their exhales
tune to your life.
the walls are of course watching still now
they are timid
but soon you will see their white plaster bellies
sigh in and out when you come home
when you take time to inhale the
song with them.