Her,
with her lightning focus but
shattered, scattered superstitions,
Convinced of a misalignment with beauty, though she holds
It in the cup of her palm. Endlessly retreating like a fire
That burns too close to the edge of the fireplace, but
climbing
Walls like she never did before, entering noiselessly and
Doused in her fragility, aiming to better you with the
Nod of her head or the flick of her pen. We dance the
Line together, she with her expert skill and I
With my restless abandonment, shying away from her
As she swivels to face me directly, asking if I heard the
Knock on the back door, as though it could have been
Anyone but her in the fossils I find, preserved in
Memory like we are in the room together and we
Are formidable creatures in the face of magnificent
light—
She delicately traces my hand with her outstretched
Fingertips, enveloping me in their warmth and
gentleness,
But holding such memory; they fly in circles over my
Hollow chest, engulfing me in their simplicity—
And we will insert ourselves within each others’ lives
Again and again, climbing up the ivy on the walls—
We might be Beyond Love here, and that might
Make us want to know what lies inside the pocket
Of the other, for it is not possible to retreat at this
stage—
Extracting the livelihood from the atmosphere when
Saving me is still possible and finding you
will not kill me.
▲