Your limbs look like
Pottery shards to me.
Held softly in the silence
As we watch the terracotta scenes unfold
Careening into a world where hieroglyphs contained multitudes
Language-building pyramids bejeweled with jade
My back turned to you, your mind turned to me.
That night, pretending to be flying machines
Watching for the first time as the night
Unfurled its dark eyebrows
And unpinned its dark tresses before us,
Umbrella clasped in summer remission
September cradling us on a plane made for two challengers
Pulling the starry neckline of the sky to pocket just a few stars.
Always standing on some sort of precipice, always neutral ground
In each other’s doorways
Knowing that if we
Broke the seams with a wire cutter, we’d end up
In each other’s dreams
Finding ground where there is air, finding air where there shouldn’t be ground
Until we recount, again, our own history.