Hang On, Hang On
I loved a tall, lean man
with ropes for hands
bone-white teeth in a smile as deep as night,
heart wild, but tamed.
His hands would span
the width of me,
a whispered supplication at my breast
the water’s edge soft creeping.
What stillness there, and there
I do not dream without that voice;
what notes and soft, soft quiet air inside of me.
I am ragged too, but hope for rest.
Here’s a banjo, lay me down,
calling across the span of space and time,
my tall, lean, man stayed home, called love,