I am my Beloved’s, his desire is for me.
Though my soul cannot seem to shake off sleep.
Though I am ever thinking a million half-thoughts
at once, trying to lay out all of life, plain,
before our eyes. Though I cannot stop writing and unraveling
all I see and know and have yet to know,
though I slay myself for not seeing enough,
or well enough; for not hearing every sound,
smelling every flower, piece of dust, coffee ground.
His desire is for me. And I no less his own.
Beloved, then, come to me, make steadfast
my heart, my ways – pull me back into the river,
so I stop listening long enough to hear your
feet on these very floors. Stop looking long
enough to see the sun again. Hold me down
slow me down, so I can see we’re dancing.