in moments like when
norah is swooning sounds swirling around,
a peculiar longing tugs at my soul to forego
all the other dreams–the art, the beauty, the
revolution, the love and golden buildings–and
just chase this one, this profound fair one that
i desire too much and tremble to actually reach:

to slip away from the 24 slices of a 7 week day,
to slide outside the parameters of living networks,
to let go all the hands and make enemies of my
brothers, fathers, mothers, sisters, and children
and hide myself away close to your ribs,
your side that flows eternal fountains

to feel the unfamiliar caress of your glory and gaze,
let all else fade away in the whisper of come away.