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The lake is first, a perfect plane
for all my sophic shamelessness to dissipate
but the lake is not a baptismal
no vast religious metaphor

and I am not contingent nor innate
a figure at the shoreline
figure at the mountain's base

oh my transgressive pilgrimage
my lovesick body torn like bread

Laura is a mystic at NYU
jewel of a misty eye, dyslexic lover
contented by none though mourning for one

but up here on this mountain, seven stories high
you shrug your grief like negligee
as we wander from the village light

your Brooklyn lips, my nowhere mouth
you kiss me where the houses part

you held our tiny bodies together through our coats
I remember your lips, how they felt distinct and cold
all of my moonlush lovers once my daylight friends
exhausted by all of my means and misplaced ends

never dreamt beside
never dreaming beside
I wanna be the one that almost kills you
I wanna die in all your dreams

at one unconscious peak
a woman between twin streams
she says, this place has been called 'shelter'
in helter skelter disbelief

and waking I am so relieved
to learn you took an early train
I wanna be alone today and always
in solitude and grace
in solitude and silent grace

I am not in love

when the world is close
not drawn out in light
not infinite in black
I am enough for it