the furnace that burns the day away

always running to catch up,

always running—


but it keeps bringing me back exactly here,

back to the lone source, back to the page,


back to the stunning realization that

this stage will never be enough; and yet


this frenzied circle is all i have.


i will always be reaching—

forward and backward—


trying to engulf and eclipse with

oval arms a giant shifting moon;


un able to


sit and

be still


(unless asleep:

hibernating, dream-


ing in ellipses—only to

wake: to what? to whom?)


even the lines

move in couplets:


stronger together than

on their own


(even stronger than the

stanza, while the one-line


widow puts on the bravest face).


i miss my couplet.


i miss the coming home to

something—to someone


putting dinner on, putting a

movie in, putting a mouth


on mine and moving

me into the


furnace that burns

the day away.


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