is more difficult than holding you
the breathing sound we made was
green was moss was fruit found ripe
and wanting tongue what I meant
to say was all I want is your tongue
to slide along my belly where my want
is endless as that day we watched
our death swim away we were two
blind animals roaming the shore
beneath a confusion of constellations
turning above us and when I said
farewell what I meant to say is tether
me tether me with anything your shoelace
that color red you love that has no name
Lindsay Rockwell is poet-in-residence for the Episcopal Church of Connecticut and hosts their Poetry and Social Justice Dialogue series. She's recently published, or forthcoming in CALYX, EcoTheo Review, Gargoyle, Radar, River Heron Review, The Dewdrop, among others. Her first collection, GHOST FIRES, was published by Main Street Rag, April 2023. She’s received fellowships from Vermont Studio Center and Edith Wharton/The Mount residency. Lindsay has an MA in dance and choreography from NYU's Tisch School of the Arts and is an oncologist.