So the Mind Like a Gate Swings Open

When it comes to what, eventually, it must come to,don't forget to say to yourself Has it come to this againalready? Look a little lost, maybe,                                                  but unsurprised.Sometimes it feels like being a carousel horse, butwith all the paint gone strange-like, all the wood gonedriftwood, all the horses I've corralled inside me set free,confused now, because now what? The snow fell likehope when it's been forsaken, just before the wind shifts—then the wind shifts, the snow flies upward … I love youmeans what, exactly? In the end, desire may turn outto be no different from any other song—                                                          sing, and be atlast released from it. Not so long ago as I'd like to think,I used to get drunk in parking lots with strangers: we'd park,we'd drink, and—and didn't think what to call it, the restthat came after, what is a thing like that worth calling: hetook me into his arms? he held me? I know longing'sa lot like despair: both can equal everything you've everhoped for, if that's how you want it—sure, I get that. What'swrong with me, I used to ask, but usually too late, and notmeaning it anyway. He touches me, or I touch him, or don't.