I am still waiting
outside
the thickness of your windows,
imagining all the possibilities
of warmth.
I trace the drips like
maps between glimpses – while
my shadow hopes
against circles.

Do you remember the distance?
There were books on the couch,
wooden chairs,
and all the excuses.
We were at the top of the stairs
imagining like lovers
the constant executions.
I’m reassured
here in the darkness. I’m reassured.

But it fades.
Dreams into the walls,
terribly silent, dragging my knuckles
across the cracks between your stones.
There was reason for revolution –
lips and tongues, on the holes
in all my concentration.

I memorized my feelings,
so I could fill
empty interrogations.
The touch held back
the paleness of your skin –
that will give it all away,
in stacks of details…

for the price of a poem.

r berk
May, 1996 Denver