i have been sitting on sunsets, standing on
the edge of night banking my good thoughts
in lieu of creating new ones those moments
where my breath is short & your hands
are trenches, your body is hidden in someone
else’s hands.

i am now wearing camouflage, camped in the woods
of my desire, spearing small animals
and roasting them with the fire i have held
inside of my body.

i have made my home here out of small stones, i
turn the tv on and lay on the couch expecting
to want to be laying down in my cover, my trench, i check
my mail, the computer, the mail, the window.

maybe you have surprised me.
maybe it is over. 

but the sidewalk is empty and there is only ever fire
and i cannot hear you over the rounds, round, round again.