swollen doors

and in the moment of quiet
of the first taste of the day
i think nothing but to hear you
and how you love me
and to struggle to put into syntax how my body tingles
when i think you

and then
what with this
when i am lifting shovels full of dead earth
and wish to see the sun setting every evening for ever
and your voice fills my head with dislocated pining
there and not

and following you into eternity
as we have danced for eons
the fruit chasing eve
and the banishment from green
i cannot not
if this is all i ever am

and winter beckons
and my empty pillow
and the blood from my sweating hands
and the dragging hope
dust
the doors swell in the cold