Release

The space ripped in the fence looks womblike
and maybe I have been ripped open with it –
I feel different now, like a house and a baby
isn't the only future I have been living for.
Maybe, instead, the space in me could flood
pink water, gold sunset and blue calm night
and there could be a whole city there, a port,
a place to create something other than flesh.
Something more than her, more than me even,
to fill up my lungs, move my hand and pen
over every night on the bridge over our canal,
the aching to fasten a padlock, for me and her.
Now, I want just my initials, for me and my life,
to remember I don't need to do anything but stay.