there is a girl i know who drinks from the same stream as me

but dips her hands a second earlier.

she doesn't know i see the reflection of a man

in her water — same as the one i dream of

when the fever is high and the world tilts.

i love her with the knowledge of an executioner

too gentle to swing the axe.

she doesn’t know i know.

she doesn’t know i’d still build the house anyway,

light the stove, split the kindling.

i’d let the silence stay between us

like a warm creature asleep on the floor.