Many who write about desire do so in terms of lack and longing. I certainly can feel this lack and longing, as evidenced by this poem I wrote in 2012. But is the desire only in the lack and longing – even here?
It’s not quite 6:30 and I wake from a dream I can’t remember – throw my legs out of bed and turn off the not-yet-ringing alarm clock. It’s morning again.
I see a smudge of pink through the leaf patterns on the glass in the bathroom window. Opening it a crack reveals to me broken grey clouds. It’s a splash-the-face-only day.
Downstairs, dressed in a new blue top and with beads dripping from my earlobes, I know the birds are waiting for me in the garden.
Damp grass (rain last night) – apples and rose petals fallen on the ground. There it is – that longing – to enter together with another into the morning scents, the light – and delight – blurring into each other’s being within the living moment. Morning moment.
There is no one there.