Beautiful beyond belief
to look at you the whole way
would be to walk away maimed
And you know this
You rub your face
with colors worked in earth
to take on the tribal cry
and the shaking
the shaking on, the shaking off,
though otherwise are calm
as the week in Montana
you browsed through
a catalogue of streams
telling me later
things I don’t remember
because my life is lately
about forgetting
and because they were spoken
by a man who doesn’t believe
it is love moves him
away from the quarrels
with open air
into rooms corseted
with music and a white pitcher
in a white bowl
but inability
so clear its cry
is human to hold you back from us.