The Shape of Your Name

(a work in progress which will never be finished)

i.

I take tea in the afternoon,

let the day settle, sort itself out.

It's still bitter, but I notice now

how clean it is, too, how clear.

ii.

The stag is elusive, wisteria

not likely to crown the stars

in uneven antlers ever again,

but there will be new stories

and different gardens.

iii.

The sunlight cuts sharper lines

across your face when you speak

shahia in our bed, eliminating

any distinction between hunger

and appetite.

iv.

Neither contradiction nor thief,

you are a key, a question which

opened me.