without a lover my body
drifts

like sand, or snow, down
an empty street.

waiting.

wailing, inside, for a
mother's touch,

mouth on nipple, hand
around finger,

baby love.

without a lover throw
myself

into work, words, the
grown up world

of concrete & paper,
& scissors,

& stone.

the earth sometimes
holds me,

throbbing, among its
green children:

aimlessly, on crowded
streets,

alone.

di brandt
Winnipeg, Manitoba.