last night i felt the approach of nothing.
not too close but on its way, like a wingbeat,
like the cooling of the wind, the slight initial tug of an undertow*

appearances are deceiving

why is the measure of love loss?**

when change abounds

this hole in my heart is the shape of you and no one else can fill it**

do not let me fool you into complacency

the strain of being born over and over has torn your smile into pieces***




*Atwood, Cat's Eye
**Winterson, Written on the Body
***Rich, Leaflets