Sunday, February 5, 2012



we crept towards each other,
I the sun,
you the night turned always at an axis
and to a degree,

hiding your face.

let me kiss you,
brush the hair from your wide and unlined forehead

not like a lover,
but a friend. we've met before, the yous and Is
on the subway,
the stairs,
on the ropes plaited in the 16th century,

in the river,
on the shore.

You and I have held hands, held breath
(both to swim and hide from him). We've seen it all before

and yet, each time I see your face,

the thousand times a day in iterations
countless as the stars

we stare back like strangers,
reflections in glass,
pools of quicksilver revolving in an orbit or elemental universe.

Rain clouds dump, oil pumps, spills, splashes, recedes.
Emails send and are received, scribes pass along papyrus scrolls.
We watch as seasons evolve, tulips in spring, fowl and Arab uprising.
Pyramids, monuments, excursions into space
uninhabited by landmarks, scratches on the surface visible from the 21st vantage point.

we brush forearms in the hallway.
intergalactic middle school flirtation, our atoms humming, buzzing like a flock of teenage of girls
or flamingos, skinny legs held taut, in repose but
instantly for flight.

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