To lose you, it is nothing to lose you, br to stand only in the rain of you, br the rain that falls only from you, br from the bottom of your hair. br To lose you in the deep yellow br of wild anise, to lose you, to climb br down your heavy rain, it is nothing. br And to touch you, the rim and depth br of you, the lightest fold, the darkest hair, br the beating wing of the skin we can never see. br To lose you, and to be raised in the absence br of you, into the rain that replaces you, the pleasure br that precedes and surpasses either of us. It is nothing br to lose you, and to speak with you as it happens, br to sense the years grown toward this one loss br complete themselves as we talk. And to run br my hands over you, to let my hands br drift over your eyes and over your back br which is like a powerful sunflower stalk br from which it seems your body opens.