Do you need a woman,
She asks,
Stepping into her dress.
Do you need me?

I stare into my heart,
And wish it were true.
(What is wrong with me?)
I see only closed doors,
Unknown rooms.

I say, I need a new word
For all of this. One less
tired and pale
and pressed.

There are a few moments
Of silence. She is
Looking out the open window,
Her fingers splayed on the ribs
Of the cold radiator.

I say, Here's the deal: I'm going
To get in the car and drive.
I'm sick of my own cruel
Self-pity and chronic indecision.

I'm going out to find the rhythm
Of the ocean.

If I wake up years from now
With you lying next to me,
Let that be the answer
To your question.

. . .

copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler