i am in
a crowd
of selves
talking and
telling,
standing
to close
i step back
my arms open:
a kind of
untethering,
resignation
letting go as they say,
drifting from the
shore, (what shore?)
unmoored into –
languor? buoyancy?
alone:
it all grows still
unknown, irresponsible,
not responsible
at sea
after days it occurs
to me
the only
thing left to do
is slip from the boat
and into my body.
(second attempt)
i used to court
sadness like
a lover
sinewy and
sensuous
beguiling
everything i wanted
we went
everywhere
together
i believed
everything
i gave her
a place
but she is gone
and that made
me sad
in another way
a beauty
uprooted
a possession, a toy
my keeping kept
something from growing
(final attempt)
she is back
in my life
unrecognizable
though not
as sadness
as someone else,
not sure who.
chris woodhull
Monks & Mannequins 