We can make more of an effort
than this, can't we? I don't know
how to do this, without you
I am stunned; and I miss
even your chastisements
the fingers being pointed
are so lovely; and I have
investments in your eyebrows.

If we're always flinching
these gestures can't be slow
if you can't just be there
can it really be apathy?

I am afraid I do not know me
unless you are biting your lip
and slightly unnerved, but if not
all the better, as long as
I can see you walking.

Your footprints in soil
are tiny indentations of truth
against a world about to crumble
giving way to something else-
a thirsty fog, turning me
to vapor; a darkened sky
I would float towards-
all of the world is turning
into naked atoms, and I
will fall until I can see them
holding you; and that is why
you are more beautiful
than words: you are always
whole.


-e.












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