I want to unshroud my desire
for desire now that I've plumbed midlife
where nothing nimbles the heart numbed.
So that the most I can do is long for longing, hanker
for rank hunger, thirst for raw thirst.
I want to kneel at the foot
of this desk, bed, life and pray
I can still pray for something.
That the blood and breath of this body
can still rise and pant for someone.
That even if it's taken all day to unfold
these few minutes accordioned in
before I snap on the body-
suit of Mother, the Goodly
housewife at the sofa, the table, the range
that the Want Room will still open for me
with my blunted key: a yearning to turn
in the welter, crash through the soundproofed,
blind look unstuck. That I can crave time
for time, lust for lust,
hope for hoping I awaken each day and want
to want.