Away
Henri Cole


If I close my eyes, I see you again in front of me,
like light attracting light to itself. I'm standing
in the lake, forming a whirlpool with my arms,
letting the force of atonement pull me into its center
until I cannot any longer hang onto my observations
or any sense of myself, like dust and hydrogen clouds
getting all excited while creating new stars to light
the backyard. How poignantly emptiness cries out
to be filled. 
                   But writing this now, my hand is warm.
The character I call Myself isn't lustful, heavy,
melancholic. It's as if emotions are no longer bodied.
Eros isn't ripping through darkness. It's as if I'm
a boy again, observing the births of two baby lambs.
The world has just come into existence.