The first longing to know and be known,
To cast your love in oceans of space
And be reeled in, your swirling limbs
As you are pulled, the profound panic
Of dark eyes locked on bluest yes,

Radiating a ceaseless ache so fine
It's beyond the mind, 'til chrysanthemums
Are home, the ants are understood, and
A red wind wakes the chimes:
Now everything is growing
Where it shouldn't, including you.

Turning in time,
Oh you, so unsparing of yourself,
Turn to see the free air finds you
Already perfect, waiting to arrive.

Steve Kirchhoff has published in such journals as The Midwest Quarterly, American Poets and Poetry, The Literary Review, and Slant. He lives in Montana.