Bruise again

You touched my arm and it stayed
I wear it now, hidden springs
of black water flowing underneath
my icy river's crust of skin.

If I just wait here long enough
It will come to me.
The reason why I let this happen.

I step out and it creaks and sings
Under my weight. Black feet
body, ice. fear.

I would open my mouth to speak,
But you have taken my tongue.
My lips move and spasm,
But my breath is also in your pocket.

That which is my own stretched
Naked on that bridge between now
And then.  Wet and dry.  Dry and dead.
It is as foolish to clutch at ice
As it is to swim below.

Tuesday

the longings arrived again with a new snow
that pressed the edges of my sight line
and cozied in with a winter's wind,
white and cold and northwesterly.

they pressed in on the corners of my perceptions,
like a sullied and drowsy clown
like a cornered cage fighter
like a monopoly tycoon,
the absence of light closing quickly.

the longings arrived afresh in the morning
that culled confusion from my thought lines
as we waited patiently for sunlight
white and warm and southern.

they shout out now in my ears,
like a catholic bell at Christ Mass
like a feverishly hungry child
like a fish fallen out of the stream,

"Where are you?"