I have lived on both sides of the continental divide but most of
my adult tears have flowed into the Atlantic.

I want to know death and yet live to tell it. I want to know the border.

I want to stick my foot out of the bed. To feel the presence of the world with detached compassion.

I want to emerge from the heat of the car forever.

I want to lie down between the cool lines and sleep in the pages
of a book.

Charles Reznekoff, of Manhattan and Los Angeles, said: “I didn’t invent the world, but I felt it.”

When another person says out loud the words you have inside you, a sticky, silky bond forms between you.

I am a leaf on your tree as you are on mine.

You whom I don’t know, I feel you in skin. You’ve been
holding my hand while I slept. I’ve been leaning against you all along. It was your nearness that made the train’s clatter sound
like a lullaby.

Wherever we are will be a house forever. I feel your breath
against my neck. O fearless comrade, our bed is made of awe.

From Liontaming in America (New Directions) ©2024 Used with Permission