Love, I will give you my happiness.
I will slip it into your morning coffee, and in the evening I will trade it for your scotch.
In the hospital cool, I’ll fill your IV bag full with my joy, and outside, I will douse you in great splashes.
I will make a thunderstorm on the mesa above and it will rain for days.
Your dam below –
old – cracked – hastily – patched –
And its deluge will sweep away the nettles behind your eyes, so when I kiss you full on the mouth in the afternoon’s heat, I will taste my joy in your sweat.
Love, I will give it all to you.
When I run out, send me scavenging in the brush.
I will return with:
arms full of firewood –
dusky pebbles in my shoes –
sage between my fingers –
snakeskin between my teeth.
Send me to the river.
I will return with buckets sloshing water.
I’ll place these things on a nighttime fire
And sear my skin as I lean to stir.
In the morning, I will be ashes. But drink my last happiness in the cool of a slow rising dawn –
and taste my sweat in your joy.