an enigmatic painting framed in the heart,
desire, four horsed, dragging
a wagon with the brakes on.

the body's need beaten down
with wildflowers
twined through links of heavy chain--

the hum of burnt-out filaments
in a light bulb overhead, barely bright enough
for late night reading. behind the window
is a painting, a face appearing
far more distant than it is

and your own face hovering in front of it
wanting in. watermelon seeds in the belly
of a woman four thousand years old; what survives
is evidence of hunger.

And i have loved you cleanly.

if love is a prelude to a paradise
that i can never enter, then i will travel
to the edge of my ruined map,
and that will be enough.
there will still be wilderness;

still be beauty.