i touch you, and
the heavens expand —
a hand slips between
the folds of a curtain, to
allow a close view
of the star-speckled
universe, the next world.
attraction between our
bodies pulls space and
time into a dense moment,
airless, small, and
rapid as our pulse.
i could spend days, the
ocean of your patience
barely touching these poorly
laid sakuteiki stones;
a hollowed arch worn
from years of slow tides
opens into a cozy realm
of private, shared names —
names that have the power
to span the distance of
alien worlds.  in this way,
we relearn the alphabet of
samsara, which dulls the
blade of separation.

Backing away, the glacial
surface that is you slides
at a faster pace, melting 
in front of myself, the
underbelly ice.  We are covering 
eras of mammoths and shellfish
who did not make the change
from a colder climate to one 
more temperate.  A way of living
which does not crack under 
stress, instead blends like 
separate clouds, comes from our 
struggles on a stage where
our skin is naked, exposed
to our birthmarks.  Yet 
this is if we are lucky, for 
death stalks us through fallow 
fields and harvests, sowing 
thorns; journeys that take days,
turn into months and years.  If 
we are wise, even these bitter 
seeds will fade like a season's 
pollen, transform beyond nothing 
and everything.  love, forgive 
me, for desiring what will be