I'm in an open relationship
with my heart.
How can I contain my passion for snails?
Milkweed in autumn, the foreplay of otters,
the holes in old socks that live
for decades in a drawer,
stray cats, lonely porcelain Sleeping
Beauty and the Prince
salt and pepper shakers,
coyotes moaning in the wetland,
wayward petals that wander
far from their roses
on rain-swollen breaths of September.
Each creature, I'm afraid,
is my favorite partner.
You, you above all.
I say that to everyone, don't I?
After love making,
the universe and I just lie here
gazing through our tears.
Who is the sweat-beaded Dancer?
Who is the Witness wearing only
a necklace of stars?
One who burns completely,
leaving neither smoke
nor ashes,
becomes pure.