A Letter From Home

​Always that face, Lovely
strained, as if lifting a sedan
that rolled and has you pinned
under the split transmission
of manhood. My sweet Lovely.
Isn’t it possible you have imagined
the wrong metaphor. What if
you are straining to lift something
that isn’t on top of you.  Why not dare to stop 
pushing away, and embrace,
for love of your life,
embrace something not manufactured
something with its own voice
something that lives and dies and lives again –
a ten foot falcon, say, with a neck
as broad as your grandfather’s grandfather’s
black oak tree. With feathers like sheets of paper
flapping in the wind at ten thousand feet.
My Love, please, for love of your life
stop straining to push away.
Your legs are too small to grip 
that immense body.  But your arms
your arms – they were made to wrap
around his neck. They have the strength to hold. 
So hold. Hold on.
Feel the music in his throat.
Stop pushing away and hold on.

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