I continue to follow your name
in the wheat fields
wavering and wavering,
the curves of your body
under this early Spring sun
by the edge of the houses
I first learned to believe in you,
the air is warm and encompasses.
My kittens are ghosts now.
They walked through that field
when I realized the fibers in my heart
for your love.
Your arms sculpted by passion,
you held me with force,
a gravity I had never known,
a first cognizance of the lifeforce
in my blood.
Blood has fallen all around those oak trees
at the edge of the wheat stalks waving.
It fell from my hands and fingers.
The ones that lost you.
Blood into black dirt.
Blood under moonlight.
Blood of the verses that no longer whisper
remain in the everlasting soul
of my DNA that lived and still lives
solely to see your flock of brown hair
dance across the vaporized horizon
with the toss of your hips
cleanse my mind
and all that I will ever know.