Tender Embassy

Mortgage means death-pledge.

I called to tell you love means waiting in the dark.

Your overworn tires creep down our alley

like the gargoyles of Notre Dame at night.

Many nights you land your dart on the bullseye of meaning.

Many darts have yet to reach my tiny, ambulatory desk.

Wheels turn back from the sun’s rationalizations.

Your face moves back and forth

like the brooms and dustbins of faith.

Desire stuffs the mind into the mouth.

Time worms it out. Plumes of exhaust,

so many of them out on the road

under the mild sun, under the weight

of a darkness we will never own.