Sometimes taking turns
Comforts me but
Often it is full of torsion
Threatens to sling me out
To a place I don’t recognize.

I thought I would stop aspiring
Rent a log cabin in the proverbial woods
Write proverbs about wilderness and snow
And slide comfortably
Down to dim blue light.

(My hand makes slow circles on your stomach
Under the comforter, the light shut out
Clockwise, always, the turns are soft
You are near sleep, your breath warm
While your skin is so hot.)

The time is variable, I never know
When the next one will appear
There is no way to measure that distance between them
They are slightly raised, so we know when we have passed through
Like we wouldn’t know anyway.

Sometimes I think I see you on the other side before me
In a world so intimate you can’t turn back
Can’t explain things
You don’t know any words to write on little notes, to
Slip them under
The door.