obscure

i stretch my arms
to touch the other side,
elongating my spine,
separating my shoulders,
dislocating my elbows,
spidery scuttling fingers grasping
at something just outside of reach,
or imagined to be.

i want to send my reach outside
of itself, like fishing,
casting out my hands
and reeling them in, empty.

what is it that i can't see?
it's so dark out there.

poem for a windy night

who were you who spoke to me
in quiet hushes on cruel march winds?
you know i wanted to be with you there,
wanted to be you,
just like you,
and you be me.

was it you who spoke to me?
whistling, howling, roaring,
rattling the windows in your fury,
then just a hum, a hiss,
a tickly whisper in my ear,
for me alone.

where were you in that quiet roar,
where is your anger, where is your fear?
why do you cry in the darkness
like a cat
begging to be let in from the rain?

who was it who spoke to me?
i hear a voice on the wind.

was it you who spoke to me?