Yes and No

Exactly the problem is
no nightfall of a day past is
here and I have to be here with what is.

Here the poinsettia dies
or at least that's what
losing its leaves looks like.

My heart still skips its beats.
I want a hand to feel my ribs
and like them and what's underneath.

A hand not mine.
A hand not Adam's.
Not God's whose hurts.

The sky is the color of last light on water.
Too much silver. My back hurts.
Trees out the window, too still.

Exactly the problem is
I have to make it up as

I go and I've never believed there was
Any where to go.

Forgive so you can go on loving.
The light like an exhalation declines.

Copyright © 2004 Liz Waldner All rights reserved
from Saving the Appearances
Ahsahta Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission