For many days, you have been walking the path in the backyard,
lifting your skirt
to avoid the thriving lances of thistles.
It is the best of the day.
You reflect, smiling.
In the mountains, animals have lurked for a long afternoon, as if non-existence,
their gaze weary, the glare,
for lack of moonlight, not yet frighteningly beaming,
though the howls are in cool preparation
in the abdomen.
It is too much to be enough, the blue indefinable in the sky,
so different from the shower of confetti
which had pleased almost everyone in your wedding,
and in particular that pair of hands, which in colored light were thrilled,
picking up the glitters from your barely accommodable body, one by one.
By now at nightfall, you’ve fallen into nowhere,
and only by holding one hand with another
can you hold yourself from falling further.
No one is around,
not even any form of regard.
It is in such a world of otherness where I entertain
that we breathe from each other like we reach
for the invisible color of our skins
under a blanket in a dark house.
Through the intersticed window
we surface to see the night
is still night, with a falling star shearing across our mind’s eyes,
and I feel the electric of two fish touching scaleless bellies
when gliding through the window.
July 29, 2008