slightly
this is not a question you should ask,
although you ask it without words, but simply
looking, questioning eyes.
our toes trace lazy circles in the sand, the sweat
clings to the back of my knee, and i raise
my hand to block out the bright of the sun, and breathe deep.
this is not an answer to be given, or to be spoken.
there will be a moment, late at night when i will answer,
when the cool night air rustles the blinds.
and wordless, in darkness, when you ask silently again,
i will trace those lazy circles on your skin and
not look away.
in the yukon
i would like to scream now,
to let my voice cross this vast wilderness
to reach the distant mountain before me,
to cross what my body cannot.
I want to scream across this distance
and hear my echo come back.
I want to make my voice larger than myself,
to overcome in seconds
the thing that cannot be overcome.
I want to scream across this divide,
and shatter the vast silence that pushes
down on me,
break through this wilderness
that threatens to make me insignificant.
