I couldn’t find the bathroom door
so I went down the line opening them all.
I loved everyone I saw!
Here is what I wanted to do: hold
each willing face in my two hands, touch
each set of lips with my thumbs.
One had a jawline like the cut of a sail.
One, the slenderest neck.
One had such a beard, it was hard to find
his face, but I found it. Sometimes
they reached back, we stood eye to eye
holding each other’s heads,
arms x’d across the gap.
Sometimes one of us was taller than the other.
And sometimes we took a step closer.
I loved best standing near enough
to warm the air: that six inches
from chest to chest came alive; the space
had muscle. Once, a woman’s wings
got in the way until she realized
she could lift them, resettle them
around us both. I’m a little drunk,
I told her. I think you might have wings!
Stop talking, she said.
Her wings were pewter, green.
I left my left thumb on her mouth
for a long time, until I heard
the morning sounds: coffee grinding, shower
warming up. Every several years, the muscle
of my heart runs wild for a stretch of minutes
and I become the dirt road beneath it.
I tried one more door.
It popped open like a cork and I
fell into tangled grass.