On the First Try

Lake Mead. 2009.

On the First Try

I feel so lonely
and clutching my elbows in
toward my ribs doesn't ease
that (pathetic) tightening in my throat.

A puzzle has sat undone on my table
for two months now,
the figures fleshed out,
the grey-purple sky in pieces.

But they say the sun will shine
this long holiday weekend
and what more can I ask for?
My friends write and call, inquire.

Meanwhile, I want to drift away
into that world of soft yellow knowing
where someone cooks for you,
even when they're tired.

I want to know without asking
and not have to ask to be told
that love is mine for the taking for granted,
the reveling in, the wrapping around me like a blanket.

I know I haven't tried each piece
in each spot, but must I? Each one?
I am greedy for the thrill of selecting a single one
and carefully placing it in its home.