Whirl

you work for things —
see things — far away — that you will never touch

they are seen thru — they are silver — they live in outlines
they are the swoon in the middle of the ocean.

I am never sure if this longing is heard,

to long and be alone
to long and be with
to long and be without.

Tulips blossom, the whole body opens
before the bloom, silently — as if to say
even this hard work can be easy…
as if silk were whispering.

But I labor with you - I draw you into me
like a collapsing current in its whirl

and I am not silent. I am the abyss that will not rest.

That's right…I am your whirl.