Tomorrow has a permanent slot in the calendar, constantly renewing itself. I keep you saddled there and lament the traffic between us from a Switzerland of desire. I want to break my polite neutrality. Surrender to the dirty magnet. Wander off the trail. To France for some frog’s legs. Maybe because your husband would never wander, would never trill like the frogs in my country dark. Their mating call a siren. As if loneliness were fatal. What do I know? I gather meager kindling. Popsicle sticks, toothpicks. Another cold blue night listening to those frogs partying until the sun coppers the dusk. If only I could measure the distance to you. To see whether all these todays are bringing us any closer.
Michael says, à la Stevie Nicks.
In our dream band, on tamborine:
Michael Montlack is author of two poetry collections and editor of the Lambda Finalist essay anthology My Diva: 65 Gay Men on the Women Who Inspire Them (University of Wisconsin Press). His poems recently appeared in Prairie Schooner, North American Review, december, The Offing, Cincinnati Review, and The Night Heron Barks. He lives in NYC.