The Box<P>You are with me but gone.<BR>Your skin grows bark. It <BR>does not want to be translucent<BR>to my touch.<P>I am a problem; you will solve me.<BR>I am a demand; you will cancel me.<BR>I am a shortage; you will audit me.<P>If I am green you crave purple.<BR>If I am warm you sweat.<BR>If I am round you bounce off.<BR>The tides of my dreams<BR>ruffle your sleep.<BR>My loud needs slice like<BR>helicopters through your air.<P>Sometimes you confuse me <BR>with air, with water, with pollen,<BR>the medium you live in,<BR>with the clock of the heart<BR>that runs slowly down,<BR>with time that files<BR>every hill flat.<P>To try cannot mean going backward.<BR>The past is stored in our bones.<BR>Do you want to walk onward<BR>toward that blank wall?<BR>Now we walk at the wall very fast<BR>holding hands and trying to act as if <BR>we believe in an opening.<BR>If we come through the stone<BR>we come through<BR>in an unknown place.<P> by Marge Piercy<BR>