along that theme

Just ran across something I wrote at some point during the *real* dissolution of my relationship w/ CB. It was in my old journal. Here it is:

Who will adore me? Not
you. Who will count
each hair, map each
freckle, track
each new line, each
year? The way I rock my
body slightly when I
read a poem -- the way
I cry over minutia.
Only me.
Only me.

I only love you now
in fragments. Your
strong hands, wide
forhead. The picture of you,
hanging in the hall, you were
19, 7 months pregnant, your
hair in braids, in an apron,
baking bread. All the rest
memories: souring.

I want to love god but get
lost. Can god be found
in the spark between human bodies
struck against each other like
stones? Can we -- striking --
make a fire between us? And
will that fire
light a path
skyward?
Or simply consume us
in a flash
leaving darkness falling
on ash.