When I touch your arm and goosebumps lift,
it's your mind that surfaces there.
When your iris tightens mechanically
around your pupil, that aperture

becomes for me the blacked-out
cockpit of your mind. It's your mind

that touches your tongue to mine,
your mind that, when you're driving,

lowers your hand to my thigh
almost mindlessly. Your mind

like a pilot light inside your sleep,
your mind that beats your heart-

slower, then faster-infusion pump
in the chest, flooding your mind.

But your heart is not your mind.
The curve of your hip; the soft

skin of your wrist is not your mind.
The tumor growing in your brain

is just your brain, I say. The shape
of your face; the sound of your voice,

which I love so much, is not your mind.
Your mind spills through-fire

I can't stop watching from the far
side of this darkening valley.



About this poem
"'Mind-Body Problem' is a love poem that considers how philosophical abstractions become acute and discernibly present in the face of illness and loss."
-Wayne Miller

About Wayne Miller
Wayne Miller is the author of "Post-" (Milkweed Editions, 2016). He teaches at the University of Colorado Denver, edits Copper Nickel and lives in Denver.

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The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.


(c) 2016 Wayne Miller. Originally published in Poem-a-Day, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate