The gesture takes shape in the shavings of the sky,

swooning pregnant with a mouth of dreams, and the rapid eye

believes.

 

She waits on the day with her fingers,

trimming the water, visiting his shoulder

in the breeze – hair, lips, and collarbone, blushed,

 

and, pilgrim like, her memory invents a body,

whispering the leap of the burnt lake, the sun ice-skating.

 

Wading, she seems to be wading; twirling in green -

she has never seen him as a silhouette.

He is the sound of a tree standing,

 

a hidden court, kind, and wise,

rinsing her breath and dousing all goodbyes,

making a home for her in her throat;

 

a private graduation.

 

She reclines, dying her iris

with purples and midnight blues, speaking to him

with the fragments of a heart,

 

spaced like diamonds in time, and can only smile:

"Even what is far is somewhere

and I find you somewhere inside."