Diary

               I want to be

                         intricate inside

        you I want to open

                               the little book

                      of you. That library

you live in, I

          check you out.

                              Rustdark readings

    by the starfilled lake:

                    all here, every page

      no one was reading.

                    I like to read,

                            even the hard stories,

            the wrong words, I hold them

                          in my mouth, the odd words

                                              we use for want, that

                               no one knows

                                     how to say, not even

                                                      you, a key gets

                       turned. We were locked,

                                   between the stale earth and

                                              the sky, the key turns the lock

                  between you and

                               you, the key turns the ground,

                                                       the ground is set each successive

                                        hour of the day,

                                                    the book is opened, goes dark

                      as night sinks down, down into

                                                the well of the heart:

                                                           we have lost nothing,

nothing is lost.