At night the sky is dusty with too much snow falling.
The deer come up to the birdfeeder to eat. There is never enough food.
This is not a metaphor for the cold snap of missing you.
Knowing you wait up nights under the same sky, working by a single lamp, straining your eyes--
Knowing you want sex, take airplanes, wonder about god--
it is not enough.
Your tongue in my ear, transmitted over telephone wires, you read me children's books.
I meditate on cranberries, gratitude.
I fall wordlessly, lovingly, into your being, into being you, into nonsense raucous iridescent love.