No matter how much you add to hate,
the final sum turns into a fraction

while love is a substance that augments with subtraction.

In the morning she slept late until I came
to bring her tea in bed, a napkin, a plate
with toast and cheese. Slurred she’d say, So soon?
and raise her body—stolid, languorous whale—
from the sea of dreams it had been swimming in.

There is a kiss that sounds like the howl of an owl
in a forked elm near a marsh
where trains pass. Have you heard?

It is a kiss that hasn't yet been kissed.

For a twenty minute portion
of each day I tend
to my mortality,

All things draw toward a common core
the way a wild goose soars
below the cloud deck in a gray sky,
wing beats like metronome clicks
measuring time’s longing
inside the chest of space.

How old are you that you're permitted to wander late
nights alone? You walk in circles, tongue-

tied, coyly dropping pallid, scanty scarves
into puddles. For whom?

Are you in love, or a pilgrim seeking absolution?
How can you run so fast without feet,

without getting away?