i am looking
for the poem of
being with you
surely is somewhere
in me
and not in these
musty scraps
these faded books
kept here in the office
or in the jaded looks
the tired looks
the life dead looks
of everyone around us
who was not there
to see the rapture
like Christs on crosses
on our faces
the bases of our hands touching
and then planting
against the mattress
against the head
of the bed
as in amaze
we planted ourselves
like lighting on trees
into each other