Border Reports

You remember the first time I told you
about the dark needle's turning & the need
to hold it fast to the ground
you were wearing a shirt so thin
the rain treated you like paper.

You were crouched in the shed
where the wires traced a halo
like the beginning or end of the world
& the rain torching beyond the wick
of a candle that couldn't have been there.
You had your hands over your ears, there was still
the cackling & strutting of roosters underground.
It felt good there, the aroma of dung & din
like a battle I had missed.
I always loved history; you kept saying you were
hungry, hungry & what were we doing there?

I told you about the compass of desire
& its restless burning after & still you held
the blankets so tight around your feathery body
that to keep us from lifting
I wish I had given you a sword.
I wanted to come to you then or carry
your limitless weight down to the barrier.
But you were waiting for a horseman
& aching.