For today, desire
is like a toy train, and
when the wooden cars fall
off the track, it’s like the way
the map didn’t show just how steep
the trail would be, or perhaps it did,
but you told yourself it would be easier;
and when the trail begins to ease
it’s like the scent of lilacs or lilies—no matter
how deeply you breathe them in
you can’t get the sweetness to stay
with you, but when the sweetness
is at its deepest, it’s like the sound
of the rain on the window, it’s
rhythm is quick and unpredictable,
like the two new silvery minnows
bought for only thirty cents
that were meant to be food
for a bigger fish, and when
in the bowl with fake blue rocks
they flash and shift, well, that’s
a bit how desire is.