May 22, 2020

Befriended

I have not yet made a friend of hunger,
but I feel the sense of it, look toward its edges
as to the horizon, know how the gentle nudge
brightens to a crisp line of insistence,
both inviting and impossible to grasp.

I should invite it in for tea – or just warm
water, perhaps – apologize for not keeping
enough space for its wildness. I will want
to say that I want to learn to cultivate some
wild, but that sounds like a contradiction

in terms, nonsense, so much empty talk. So I
simply sit, instead, and sip, casting furtive
sideways glances at my guest, who looks out
toward the horizon as if expecting the
silhouette of some feral stag to materialize,

ex nihilo, antlers sharp and black against
the flaming eastern sky. This would be a
strange friendship, I think, my mind still
chattering in its way, a practice of space
and silence. I scan the horizon for a sign.