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Fool

The words crawl out of the phone
to expunge this heart's thread of aspiration
at the thought of your four names.

Earth, air, fire and water
solid as truth, wet as oceans,
you are a fifth intrinsic element
recombining those, and all others,
in a periodic table of your own design.

I am frightened, oh, woman of fundament
root, stem, seed, heart
again, four names on my tongue, awaiting.

Fools are made of just such expectation
I am every kind of fool,
willing to steal out in the night
to consort with the chemistry of desire
to beg recognition and solace of
an apothecary moon.