At first, it was only a dark dot, a floating particle
that took you around in your displacement.
Pulled into focus but pushed so away, you seemed to be a dwarf
lost in a constellation, as she would say,
but everything correlates in rotation and revolution.
You might take your place behind a staircase, and said
one could never be lonely,
with all those steps of ups and downs.
Then she came like all the others who come by,
but she fell into her own way of seeing the lines in this narrow space,
hers was a perspectival deepening.
In a coordinate in terms of dimensions and IQ and aspiration she dredged you
from an area: below average, unrated and positive.
There is a liquefied multilayered circle that holds light that holds darkness
that keeps you apart.
No cries can be heard in this too vast plain,
and there are no echoes.
She has rains of cloud stones to dodge,
and she has only two arms to wrap up her head.
The terror of accidents oozes like tears that have never welled up
but crystallized into shining motes beneath your lids.
I marvel at their neon colors, forgetting to pray for pure light
and unable to ask why.
It is the mystique that binds, the smart that make you feel for her,
it is a baroque pearl she holds painfully, tenderly and warmly;
she says this is good, and you hear confidence and modesty and unshed tears.
March 1, 2008