I held you
　　through all your shifts
　　of structure: while your bones turned
　　from caved rock back to marrow,
　　the dangerous
　　fur faded to hair
　　the bird's cry died in your throat
　　the treebark paled from your skin
　　the leaves from your eyes
　　
　　till you limped back again
　　to daily man:
　　a lounger on streetcorners
　　in iron-shiny gabardine
　　a leaner on stale tables;
　　at night a twitching sleeper
　　dreaming of crumbs and rinds and a sagging woman
　　caged by a sour bed.
　　
　　The early
　　languages are obsolete.
　　
　　These days we keep
　　our distances:
　　sparring in the vacant spaces
　　of peeling rooms
　　and rented minutes, climbing
　　all the expected stairs, our voices
　　abraded with fatigue,
　　our bodies wary.
　　
　　Shrunk by my disbelief
　　you cannot raise
　　the green gigantic skies, resume
　　the legends of your disguise:
　　this shape is final.
　　
　　Now, when you come near
　　attempting towards me across
　　these sheer cavernous
　　inches of air
　　
　　your flesh has no more stories
　　or surprises;
　　
　　my face flinches
　　under the sarcastic
　　tongues of your estranging
　　fingers,
　　the caustic remark of your kiss.