Ellen C. Bush
Let there be darkness
so the house glows like an ember with you
inside: your fevered hands in water hotter
than you can stand, skin becoming
steam, becoming air.
Remember someone
you used to love more
than they loved you. How you
swore that would never happen again.
When Auden said let
the more loving one be me he
was right as far as stars go.
But among the animate
the less loving heart always wins.
Let there be no moon
or stardust, no bird or fish or tree. Just
the poem that begins with hands, the dark
that begins with a heat that only space
can render.
Remember someone you used
to love more than you love now, how
you swore this could never happen.
When you step from the house the heat
knows you:
air becoming mist, becoming skin.
Seeping into your lungs
a wet rattle.