magnetism, light
                        after Catullus 75
 
you      are the magnet to         my quivering filings
you are the       window           to my quivering           air
my mind          so far brought              down  
I love you        more                the less            I like    you
just the thought            I’m finding      as
 hard to grasp              as magnetism               light
or that              uncertain sense            of being
watched                       I should desist but       I cannot
desist               in loving          you and yet      I could not like
you even if      you were beyond         reproach          you
could be           perfect and I
still would be                           as wooden                   as
a windowsill                the tree            outside             the window
asking me to search                 amongst its leaves       for you
the bird            whose call                   soars skyward
as         the crumbs                   I hold grow                 stale