Lake Santeetlah, North Carolina
The problem with heights:
They are heights.
Again the resistance
of water.
How each kiss, somehow,
is an attempt to recreate,
not make new.
Lust: a four-letter word.
Also: what.
I have self-covenants:
One: to imagine no
other when with you.
By the fire, I slip.
I curse myself
for not loving better.
When I ask you if I am
someone else you say,
Only you.
I want to be this mountain.
But then I swim.
The problem with covenants:
They are covenants.
Later you say this to me:
The blank space is how
I honor it, deliciously gone.
Even the fog makes promises,
spans the hips of mountains.
Such great heights.
The fire wet ashes
we cannot light again.