HUGH STEINBERG

Diary

               I want to be
                         intricate inside
        you I want to open
                               the little book
                      of you. That library
you live in, I
          check you out.
                              Rustdark readings
    by the starfilled lake:
                    all here, every page
      no one was reading.
                    I like to read,
                            even the hard stories,
            the wrong words, I hold them
                           in my mouth, the odd words
                                               we use for want, that
                               no one knows
                                     how to say, not even
                                                      you, a key gets
                        turned. We were locked,
                                    between the stale earth and
                                              the sky, the key turns the lock
                  between you and
                               you, the key turns the ground,
                                                       the ground is set each successive
                                        hour of the day,
                                                    the book is opened, goes dark
                      as night sinks down, down into
                                                the well of the heart:
                                                           we have lost nothing,
                                                                                  nothing is lost.