Take Me With You


I did not feel safe.
I ran like I was on fire.
Looking inward, I saw a pile of red sticks

I could not feel your blood beating.
I ran
I ran in circles
I ran wild
Looking inward, we were strangers

I was running.
I was crushed, red, and small.
Feel the back of my head
Where the cracks are 

Looking inward, I could only search 


We met once before —
Gramercy Park in ’94 — 
and then again in an elevator
of cockroaches and frozen dust 

Looking at you then,
blonde hair, a dark shirt and leather pants —
the tall bookcase
lit by wind and
piled with your cameras

Looking at you then,
Looking at you,
Looking at you,
I was lost

I saw your ghost
drinking Veuve Clicquot
and dancing

I went because I had to


We met again,
ten years ago in Berkeley.
I looked around and saw something like it,
but still I did not feel safe

I saw how you looked at me,
but only when we were alone
only when you were hurt
only when there was no door

When it appeared,
you would say “the light, the light, the light.”
There was something that you could see
that I didn’t understand

We loved our wine
We took the hard line
We tried to learn
We looked the part 

Your kitchen looks the same
Pictures of boys with guitars
and your grandmother
My teenage drafting table
Covered in your paints 
and brushes,
and water 

The light is in there 


Looking all around me now
Your light shows shapes unseen
You receive me in sixty-four thousand colors

I look inside, and
I see a secret starfield
I see the embers burning
I see bees’ bodies turning
I see the honey in its jar
I see a heart of jade 

Move slow, and turn
Let the low fire burn
I’ve seen enough to know
All the years have found their place 

I’ve got no leaving left
My shoes can go on without me
Take me with you