Only a moment, I thought,
just a moment of pulling your breath
into mine would buoy me
through whole oceans of days,
days I would otherwise drown in
save for a single shared moment.
But here I am, beneath the surface,
near out of air, gasping, longing for
hours, no, days, no, whole epochs of closeness
with no sense of starting or ending.
How soon a woman wants more.
I try to fill my pockets with things
that float—the clean scent of spring
and the song of whatever bird that is
outside the window. I try to find
my own lightness I have found before.
I tell myself, this is only a story,
as I sink further down, as the blue deepens.