he curled on couch composing, me propped on pillows committing
A towel draped across his boxer's shoulders,
his knees dark scars ,
He wrote to me -
His fear lost the mask of bravado ,
His pain wears its own face today.
He writes to me -
I transcribe and anticipate the tune,
full of more music than can be.
The song stings my eyes with tears.
We are building a shelter in the dark woods.
Around us, our shed selves and their lovers
lurk like grizzly bears
and scavenging raccoons -
Their claws would skin us alive
If we let them.
I think it is enough that they dig in our trash.
We grow best in a soundproof capsule
That is filled with soothing oil
In which we accustom ourselves to each other:
Now we are home. The journey will begin.
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