Maybe you are Big Foot
stomping near Loch Ness
or wherever dreams go
to sleep. I never did admit
to wanting to sleep
with you.

We used to heat the air with talk.
Eyes fell on lips that fell
on ears and so forth.
We were making words
that erupted between silences
instead of love.

I could have finished
all of your sentences.
You could have ended
all of my expositions
with a question mark.
We were an epic saga

Or a fairytale. While lisps
teased at corners of lips
my vision of you wavered
from phoenix to swan
to grave-digging swain
of the empty cool moon.

We are a paragraph's length
apart and not getting closer
to the denouement. Why
postpone the last page
to linger at the start?
I was never self-denying.

Come visit my cottage
in the spring. Leave the bog
of yesterday for once.
I will lay out sunflowers
on the ground. I will lay out
quiet as a hungry mouse.



Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng