No longer do I want
The fierce waves of my  heart to break upon
The grey concrete desert and lamped starlight
Of the city
Singing your name at dawn
Waiting at your doorstep
Cloaked in the music of soft
Morning shadows

No longer do I hear the hoards of horses
In battle, ships swaying, creaking in a storm
Fleeting towards victory or destiny
Whichever stands in line first
In the folds of dawn

No longer do I wish to feel the edge of the world
Sear my heart, fine as paper
Every evening at dusk
Nor do I need the shadows to call the words
To come creeping out of my ears
Shaken and bewildered, running for their lives
resting breathlessly on a white page
Only to be turned again in the morrow

I want to hear my own footsteps,
watch the earth cradle the toes,
the light of the day
stretching out across the floor
than curling up in my lap.

I want to wear the words I think like socks and nailpolish
To open my mouth long enough for all the air in the world
To  come in and be welcomed in the guesthouse
Of my lungs.
I want to wait for your footsteps, when they
Bring in the shadows
And lay them to rest.