expanding constellations
your voice stirs things in me I'd thought best forgotten
things like my hand on your hair and the taste
of your tongue on my guilt, my shame
and the joy obliterating it—
a memory of an Iowa night
and fireflies, you on your bike and me
beging for a ride across the fields.
and your illusionist hands daring me
become what I see in you
and I remember fear in all directions
and me shooting forward, a trail
of ermine fire, not daring to wait
because I knew what would have caught up
knowing there were roads
that would not wait for the exploring
knowing that my path would always lead me back
I needed my own compass rose, my own solid north.
and now I come, polestar in hand, eager to show you
this is what I have made of myself
is it what you thought I would be?
or am I yet again a delicious surprise?
8/9/99