wearied in the last week

tonight i walked through the dorf
unaccosted by demons.

my sister is
perhaps engaged,
and the moon is a diamond i would put on her finger.

my body is too tired for any judgement.
i am
uncertain about vienna
and my back is heavy with the chains
she places on it called italy.

i can't stop thinking of you
and the slant of your belly with broad chest breathing.

we are in the same boat, you know,
rocking.
and if i stood up i could see virginia.
the world
is not so big to me.

when i return to my little house in the grapevines
it is filled with the same moon,
and all i can want
is for you to lay me down in it
and fill me with the complacency
of stars.

the world is not
it is not
so big.


Copyright 1995 by Terra Elan McVoy -- from the table beneath the hand