For Kimberly

My mother seemed to have an infinite supply —
handmade bayberry candles with a single wick
between them. It made me think of the women
making them long ago, before machines and the obscene. Brand of Yankee Candle. I thought of their hands as I felt the weight of two summers of bees’ work
slung over one finger. Trimming your wick
means to make ready, to be prepared. Three stars
on Friday evening, your light in the window,
a pen rather loose in your hand, you are waiting.
Something in me knows what it is

When I think of all
the bloody things I have
to think of then
I can barely think of
anything at all. So 
how am I meant to know
the answer to the question?

I must let go of everything
but this. that
something in me knows
what it is.
In me, here,
Now. This. That. 
Is it knowing, known? 
The way now and forward?

For Dan

The desert runs on and away, parched by all I have known.  Now I trust truth will bloom wherever I step.
Jeg er skogen om vinteren.
Jeg er fuglemunnen før sangen kommer.
Jeg er et vennskap før vi møtes.

Jeg er åpen.
Jeg er klar.


I am the forest in winter. 
I am the bird's mouth before the song comes. 
I am a friendship before we meet. 

I am open. 
I am ready.

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