to the longest night of the year

before the darkness 

eats the road i thought i could see -

there was a poem.

so i place my hands where the stream lives in me

so i undo the knots in my hair

so i lean over you, heart beating

and write:

i admit the scent of my lover's perfume on her sweater,

the image of two friends in love after losing love's battle,

i admit the return home after a year

and fantasies of home i imagined with each new falling, 

i admit that rain in the winter and the memory 

of that time old crone when i reach the bedrock 

of my bones

burrows a sadness the color of fog in me.

and i smile to the waiting for death

and i smile to the waiting for living

and i place my hands on my breath

still awake at 5 in the morning

seeking for some kind of comfort

in waiting

to start again.