close

Close

I mean we never meant to get so close

so close that we could possibly get so far

away as across the street

you are

so

close

and i am

so

far

close we never

were going to get close

just some light flirtation

you

and even i are not exactly the most

available

for closeness not when it is the warrior

and the lioness

pacing and growling she

wants - everything (and he has little to give)

to feel

the wide spaces of the sarengetti

not these

paved streets filled with preditors and then

there was you

leaning against a lamp post

stronger, harsher, much more the warrior

than i had imagined you

i nervous, restless -

you became like a willow tree

by a sweet brook the sun was shining

and i was

quite content to lay in the dappled shade

and just lounge nestling my mind in paws

a period of

not trying to get anywhere

and then

suddenly

i was too close

I didn't mean to get so close

i just

have this thing for the human heart

tender and beautiful and your

branches stroked my hair and the

breezes whispered a memory

and i

wanted to touch you

just to reach out and touch

after so much distance

if i remember correctly

i might have

touched

some part of you

gently

and you - flowed. at least for a few moments.

such gentleness in your hands

that hold such such wicked weapons

as pens.

(i should know.)

and now

you can't keep me far enough away.

from willow to cactus

i am here

push pull close far

i can only offer

something that resembles

peace and blessings

first for myself

and then (perhaps) for you

its not that i don't like cacti.

i can appreciate such stark beauty.

Lionesses also

walk long without water

go far without shade. I've

walked further and longer

and closer

than this.

my breed is not as soft

not as sweet

as we might first appear.

But i gave you my softness

not my teeth

and even now

i'd rather swish the tail

than strike out.

(do you want - claws and teeth?

you will have to play well.)

and its not like you didn't warn me

as clearly as a man can warn a woman

to stay away

from his prickling spines

a warning that came out like something

said many times before

or maybe a dare:

will I still want to taste

the bright flowers that even cacti create?

your spines: such potent burdensome gifts

all that

socio-economic radical critique.

but tell me

where is the root

that finds the source

of the waters

that sustain

desert cacti and english willows

and even the huntress

will you come back

or will you find another

cat

to play the game of meter and rhyme

and i?

another brook

Reflecting shadow and light?

Maybe.

Or perhaps

there is a space

between close and far

that is balance

(heh.)

neither desert nor willows' preferred

swamplands

the savanahs - ah, the savannahs.

i wish

that were true.

and that we were not headed for

desertification.

but these days there is no cool

savannah breeze

in sudan.

cattle bones lie parched

too much exposure the bald vultures

in big jeeps and black sunglasses

taking over.

maybe we are both looking for

brooks

that won't run dry

deep waters

not used up by

others those ghosty ancestors who came before

i ever reached to caress your cheek

waters not covered by too much

machinery

those fossil waters

that used to sustain even deserts now

so close

to being

gone