I. as a backdrop
the sky glows
how you described
irradiation:
energy escaping
one body to bombard
another, particles
massless, infinitely
smaller than sand.
i'd fail if forced
to count the colors
coming off of you now.
we paint trails
of light through
a black vacuum canvas,
art in suspension.
i'd listen, but
the darkness coming
is a distraction--
was it apology
or another confession--
watch the shift as the fader
bottoms out to bring
sky down and ground up
to meet and stitch shut
to keep curtains
from unclosing; your mouth
hangs on the last words:
did you notice
it's night?
II. behind me, you're watching
the silence after
the question, lower
left corner of lip
still being bitten,
the smallest of my habits
you've adopted.
day insists it's not dusk
but i know otherwise
as reflected in the
amber almonds of your eyes.
beyond you i watch wisps of black,
their progress like poison;
you see only streaks
about my head as a halo.
one lock of your hair
will never behave.
it teases you as
i have learned to:
just gentle enough
to be noticed, as night
falls, like rapture.
III. from altering facets
i could lie and say
there is no angle
i have not learned
your face from, in this
light as in any other,
pitch and detail
belying mood and emotion,
an aurora informing the palette
casting you solid and precious,
or i could allow
the sun to speak for itself.
you're set in the scene
like a stone, i gasp
at your grin again,
teeth turned to opals
already spoken for.
i'm spun dizzy, in doubt
what i described existed
until you agree, we turn
and brilliance warms you again
pure as a vision.
spinkle 2004
the sky glows
how you described
irradiation:
energy escaping
one body to bombard
another, particles
massless, infinitely
smaller than sand.
i'd fail if forced
to count the colors
coming off of you now.
we paint trails
of light through
a black vacuum canvas,
art in suspension.
i'd listen, but
the darkness coming
is a distraction--
was it apology
or another confession--
watch the shift as the fader
bottoms out to bring
sky down and ground up
to meet and stitch shut
to keep curtains
from unclosing; your mouth
hangs on the last words:
did you notice
it's night?
II. behind me, you're watching
the silence after
the question, lower
left corner of lip
still being bitten,
the smallest of my habits
you've adopted.
day insists it's not dusk
but i know otherwise
as reflected in the
amber almonds of your eyes.
beyond you i watch wisps of black,
their progress like poison;
you see only streaks
about my head as a halo.
one lock of your hair
will never behave.
it teases you as
i have learned to:
just gentle enough
to be noticed, as night
falls, like rapture.
III. from altering facets
i could lie and say
there is no angle
i have not learned
your face from, in this
light as in any other,
pitch and detail
belying mood and emotion,
an aurora informing the palette
casting you solid and precious,
or i could allow
the sun to speak for itself.
you're set in the scene
like a stone, i gasp
at your grin again,
teeth turned to opals
already spoken for.
i'm spun dizzy, in doubt
what i described existed
until you agree, we turn
and brilliance warms you again
pure as a vision.
spinkle 2004
