Geography There is a way to go about this yearning -- I leave it settled on my heart. And let it stay there. My heart is yours, and yours without retrieving like words once said: I miss you: and the emergence of sorrow-- always stranded in our arms. The lampposts flicker -- a nightly incident revealing that empty place inside that is hurting me-- You know how this yearning works. I can translate it in languages new to your ears -and at nights like this I imitate your gesture. Not to desire but to remember your loveliness. We always return to our country called loneliness. There are details that push me to a silence so dissonant, I remember the palpable form of suffering -- too much grief, too much love. In time we might learn that any gesture is a kind of placelessness -the geography of memory is as near and small as our scars. Because of you it is difficult to forgive the world's loveliness: then your movement: sway, swoon, smile: I toss and turn, shift in sleep pressing them in dreams. Nothing like this longing will ever take on the same form again --same name -and we suffer each likeness that constantly betrays us. This world's duty now is to make us forget what have touched. Mine is to remain still and boundless because I choose to stay longer here, and your heart, my own country.