Palmistry

Go to the window, open

the window, outside

the window

there I am with you

lying down, in the dead grass,

reading you a sentence as long

as my life line. You kiss my

forehead, I kiss

your simian crease.

Go back to the kitchen. Go back

to the magnets. Touch the wood handles.

Touch the spoons

left in the sink, a sliced lime,

a juiced lime. I won’t wash

anything that isn’t mine.

The nightjar eats what it eats.

The wide wave finally arrives.

The wet moon leaves me so lonely.

You can’t tell me what I want or don’t.