Our steps interlocked,
Michelle asks me, “What do you need,”
and it occurs to me that everything
I love can and will be taken from me.
The wind that fills the sail
will eventually shred it.
The child who curves her body
into the breast will wean, will grow,
will leave. It is not true that I need nothing,
Oh Maslow, you gave us the map,
but an affinity with nothing is
perhaps what I need.