The same sky imaging your eyes folded over me as a perfume’s memory of “wine, pearls and stone” when I received your dream marveling I’ve become “a footnote grown larger than the book.”
The same book you read to excavate me is a fiction I sculpted to soften my marble core, as if—and I still don’t know—words can save me from myself.
The same poem you are feeling your way through is a thin, blue vein dug out from beneath my flesh for the color of a sky breaking into scarlet to set words afire.
The same byline your fingers caress now is text on a page, “which is to say,” yet another tree was axed for you to find the Iron Gate behind which I long hid with uncut hair and wounds as eyes, waiting for You.
First printed in Five Fingers Review and forthcoming in THE LIGHT SANG AS IT LEFT YOUR EYES (Marsh Hawk Press, Fall 2007)