In the shadows greened by the foliage Of the woods, the quiet of the universe Meets the tumult of desire.

We too search for quietude In bars, in other bodies: penetrating them Or letting them penetrate us.

But we don’t meet it. It grows distant In every successive dream of which we Remember only the most tantalizing pieces.

These ripen like tomatoes in pots of poems, As nipples do inside someone else’s mouth. We open our mouth to eat and taste air.

As unsatisfied as we are, we must learn to stalk What we seek, in the woods filled with flowing water, Our vast hearts, those conduits of blood!