the red wings of black birds

I am as far as the number Pi,
as close as the red wings of black birds,
as in-between as the ruins of an ancient doorway
that now leads to nowhere.
I am as strong as a river running
against a dam, as great as a lake
circling around itself - I am the eagle in the sky
the highway across a desert,
a snake biting its own tail.

And you are the hand that feeds me,
the spear wound that bleeds
on a tin bucket made for cleaning.
You are the rabbit down the hole,
the great looking-glass
through which I see you
as the car driving under the overpass
from which I think of jumping.

I am far, far away,
You are too, too close -
You're the road onto which I turn,
but we're no pleasure, all pain;
You were once my flame
and I'm twice my burn.