223. After You've Left

When I was a baby,
our apartment complex caught fire.
They say I slept through everything,
flames and sirens and all of our belongings
being reduced to ash.

As an adult, I have lost this talent.
If I marry you, I will sew Orion
into my dress. I can't figure out
what you want.

Fine, give me this
failure. I would like to live
without the barricades.
Invent colors and assign them
human names.

This is where it begins
to get difficult again.
You look for me without words,
voice. I will not wear white,
I will not ask you to change.

I was born to turn into flame.
I am hard to look at, I know this.
A man is flying here to see if I still light up
the world. Do you know how far
Texas is from Massachusetts?

I can't force it to matter,
can't spark on command.
In my driveway, clumsy.
At the bottom of the stairs,
clumsier still.

You're the only one
I think about.

222. February 16th

You, who cannot fall
asleep with anything around your wrist,

Who are you
to tell any man that he should not be
an island?