maybe one of these days i will
figure out how to count my
pulse so i can number how many times
my lonely heart has had
no one to beat for

and did you know that i
have made charts and graphs and tables
but i still cannot understand why
each beautiful boy has left
like the tide chasing the moon

i am looking for a mountain to climb,
one that is lonely and hushed so that
i can lie on the face of its rock and
tell it my secrets, crack them open
on the stones like the spines
of old books, and ask the mountain for its
secrets in return. and it will tell me of a time
when rising peaks were all there was
to the world, and about how all things
leave eventually, but it remains

i will grow roots into the soil and
be lonely with the mountain and our pulses
will beat together –

because neither the mountain nor i know
how to chase the moon
so i will not leave it
and it will not leave me