if i thought
those gears in your heart
would ever shift
from neutral to forward
i would wait

but time grows short
the shadow of winter
stretches across my landscape
and those gears
have rusted in place

one last time i turn
but you are looking
in another direction
across an endless desert
of dead women

those sands stretch
across the landscape of your life
in the sculpted curves
of the cold flesh of memory
you prefer to living breathing warmth

i turn again and take myself
to the deserted winter dock
unpack my gear
and stand staring into
the steelgray sea

i have no wish to die unloved
so costumed in mackinaw
against the coming weather
i cast my net
into the receding tide