I go peeking for you all over
you, man I don’t know yet.
I try and search out your characteristics like a dog would sniff out a fox.
I look into the eyes of baristas and check out clerks asking the un-ask-able question: Is it you?
It isn’t.
I know you will show when I am least expecting it.
And maybe that will be a good thing,
for now that feels tiring and scary.
Once Jairo told me I was like a wolf, my eyes searching for another’s in the room at all time.
I didn’t feel like this was a bad thing, but maybe it was.
Maybe he meant that I never lay down and rest.
Maybe he meant that I never allowed things to happen.
Maybe he meant I always had one paw on the trap and the other out the door.
I am always on the hunt.
And my bones ache from it all.
I am so tired, still, so tired and I wonder how I wake in the morning and how sad I am when I do. How sad I would be if I never did.
The wolves, they have a pack and so do I.
And the wolves, they howl at the moon in longing for connection, and so do I.
The moon changes shape.
What I howl for doesn’t.
And neither do I.
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