No Rest

There is no rest 
in rest, no peace 
but in motion
no journey
but this movement 
toward,
this dry voice,
thrusting outward 
beyond our borders
scratching into 
the white space, 
on the white sheets, 
bodies falling,
naked, hot, enrapt 
and gasping,
folding into the caesura, 
waiting for the word,
for a sign 
to give our love 
direction