rung

i use the hours like rungs in order to reach you.

i spend my nights clawing or crawling through the hours

trying to get back to you by morning. you, who holds yourself away

from me. you, who remains out of reach. you, who effortlessly

avoids my endless grasping. surely there is a world in which i have

you, but this is not it. this is the world where i want and you evade

and you try and i avoid and we dance endlessly around the truth

without ever fully touching it. a rhythmless dance. jolting, pulsing,

circling dance. the maypole without props or color or practice.

and then the morning comes. the sun lifts me and i claw or crawl

through the minutes trying to meet you. i mean, you are not there

but your voice or the assumption of it sometimes reaches for me.

sometimes allows me to be held without touch. a holding

i cannot bear and cannot bear to go without.