Have you forgotten
because there are so many women
how I worry about you
hung high from scaffolding,
the saws that have spun through
your fingers before?
This relationship: such sad surgery.
Boys have an aptitude to fall
with barn-swallow souls
from great heights and survive.
How many times have we walked
into the cupped metronome of us?
Our thoughts have always run parallel
or cross-cut each other.
Remember that after all the women have left
with their stiletto chatter
I’m beside you
while you limb-twitch asleep –
your arm still swings a hammer,
your thoughts still high on the roof.
You are the bird soul
chapelled in my lover’s body;
wrap me in worn corduroy and work shirts.
I can take much more.
Source: Armstrong, Tammy. Take Us Quietly. Goose Lane Editions, 2006.