this one is called "churches"

Recall that darkness:
it was a terrible,
made distance
in which I only

thought your shape.
Until I forgot
what was your voice,
or why. Until

we had a talk.
I said many
very important-
sounding things,

I said nothing.
“I will never have a
child, only dogs.”
I broke a glass

in trying to break
you. “Please just
let me break you.”
That wasn’t said but

how I wanted to
the most, then,
as for you, I
could only listen

through a wall,
(Oh, the distance.)
chiseled, bristling
with white paint.

This is a great
mystic dread:
that for the paint
I will forget you.

have been thinking about "it"

it is a gentle warmth