You say it’s dangerous
you say it’s too risky to be alone
it is winter
I lay in a field
in the frost the bridge across from me
my hand on my chest
my skin is hot
(like desert sand)
I am not sick
I close my eyes
and can hear the lady, whistling
on the park bench, smell
the breeze, the fiery wood
I picture the crack in your ceiling
electric-blue light on your desk
I place a hand in my pocket
grab a loose thread
twist it between my fingers until it burns
like the tip of a recently extinguished match
I unravel
silent as stone eyes open
I whisper your name
beneath the crest –
ink-faded red dusk
I listen
