Tenure Lost
I paused—not choice,
for bodies sometimes still,
Before the mind invents a reasoned cause;
The enclosure breathed, obeying its own will,
Its timbers dark with sleep’s residual laws.
My hand received this fact, unbidden, cold,
Somewhere a weight shifted, not yet heard;
A glance prolonged, a shrug half-shy, half-bold,
The breath misplaced between two failing words.
It seemed exact to count the lives I named,
Not tenderly, but as one counts small change;
A moment held as if the world had framed
A lease, while meaning slithered out of range.
I miscounted—always do, the error keeps
Its quiet economy, its stubborn claim;
The heart retains a glance that lingers, sleeps,
A touch not asked, a warmth without a name.
We speak of belonging when we mean
This has not yet departed, still it clings;
The tongue crowns what dwells, though never seen,
Mistaking presence for the flight of wings.
I came with that old ache, inherited,
Not chosen—bone and breath alike conspire;
To call a hand, a voice, a hearth, my bed,
And heat the interval with own desire.
Family.
Friend.
Love.
Words held their place,
Until the shifting light dissolved their claim;
Not treachery, but nature’s quiet grace,
That alters pattern while the frame stays same.
This life is not a home, but transient fire,
A canvas lit for those who pause awhile;
We share the heat, exchange the glance, the mire,
Then shoulder packs and walk another mile.
I thought the peg might root the earth, remain;
That dawn would pause, if asked, to hold its line;
It does not; yet the folly leaves no stain,
And still the moment presses, sharp, divine.
Change is exact; it finishes its task;
It needs no malice, no apology;
The hands withdraw, the truths themselves unmask,
And leave me here, implicated, free.
And now—between retreat
and memory’s claim,
I want what cannot stay, cannot exist;
Unsure if love erred—or if nearness came
To teach me loss by way of what I missed.
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