The remaining strings of fading light play
on your body like a harp
as the day draws to an end. Everything is
either still or subtle here, a solemn oration
to the sun, somewhere far off,
slipping behind a reddened crease
that folds the earth thoughtfully, beyond
this room. Here, your body
rests like a horizon as my spirit sets
over the edge of a red bed, a sea parted
by the creases drawn by the bedlam of our ways.
I had severed your body with
my tongue, had sliced
portions of you to consume, separated
each locality eloquently from the rest
with the precise pinprick
of the present. I am now
connecting your body, part
by part
my lips parted as
your shadow slips out from underneath you
to elope
with light, like lovers moving towards
the unknown. You remain here
with me still
in this still room
darkly at rest and beautiful as I sit in gentle
arrest having stopped
and surrendered to this
precise
moment, knowing
that somewhere far off there is
a point into which everything vanishes,
into which everything
strings away
folding back into origin,
unlimited rays of light
brought together by
the very limits of
our sight.
