Some of ash, some of gold.
Feel the delay, the pause -
Light always arrives late,
The whirl of a dancer’s steps, unreachable.
Dream-skin, fringed with visions,
Roused with someone else’s eyes.
Lie next to me, even as a trick of the light.
I would make a perfume of your quietness,
Hands water-heavy with cherry, lilac, fuchsia -
But you, the distance, I can never possess,
Your heart of strobing places.
In knowing you, I know how far away I am
I pilot the shape of my body between the
Bright places of your afterimage.
Intervals. Unbridgeable gaps.