Stopping on the bridge on a lonely stretch of new york highway 
where the marsh maps the land, if you listen you can hear 
the rivulets like blood pulsing under your skin, the rustle 
of grasses and milk thistle tops like fingers caressing your arm 
and the crickets in ululation as I sit here weeping because 
I could not save you and it's evident I can't save myself from wanting 
you. 
I come here every day in the sanctuary of our love. It's clear to me as 
never before, all that time I thought I was taking care of you 
when really, you were taking care of me. 

Copyright 2001,  S. R. Lavin