“Love isn’t always magic.
But if I offered my life to the magician, if I told her to cut me in half so tonight
I could come to you whole and
ask for you back would you listen?
For this dark alley love song,
for the winter we heated our home from the steam off our own bodies.
I wrote too many poems in a language
I did not yet know how to speak,
but I know now it doesn’t matter how well
I say grace if I am sitting at a table where I am offering no bread to eat,
So this is my wheat field.
You can have every acre, love.”

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