Look over your shoulder for the hustle of words.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Portrait

The trees have become thick pixels
because we are the foreground,
huge in the taut eye of aperture.

I'm small and glad .
I'm pressed to your brow
your arms rounding me like a bear.

The grin is relieved, we laugh into
each other's make-up and sweat
and proper dress;
we cradle ourselves
without grip or purpose
but with the same tender sling
that will draw a baby.

I trust you not to let go;
you trust me to stay, like the persistent
scent of jasmine.

We stand like that now, I think.
When we play and fight and cry and break
down to our very carbon
our very marrow
to the ground dust that made me your rib
and I feel we are still learning
to lean
upon each other like that.

Loose, but tight and still
inside our embrace.

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