I cannot write as well as you,
I cannot write.
There is a woman who lives next to my window.
She hangs her clothes between our buildings,
I know her dishtowels and bath towels.
I understand all the details.
I do not understand anything when you’re
on top. I am tired and pretending to not
be tired. I loved you in any position
but this one.
We’ve been here before:
radiant love and rampant fear.
It’s too hard with a heart that
I will not speak as well as you,
I will not speak.
I take souvenirs. I get tattoos
and have them tell the stories:
there was a bear that cured all histories
mountains I could finally call a home.
This woman, I do not know her but
I understand. She has a bird that’s
caged but still sings. I know because I
write the melodies and harmonies,
I have known wings before.