“The Moment of Influence Opens, Then Ends”

During a flood, our house catches fire.
Smell of burnt sugar. The leaves are finally falling.
I say finally, I think I mean rather that last night
I dreamed we could speak truthfully to one another
at last. Your physical body was a collection
of sticks. Something to climb, except the sticks
only lead to spaces. Every time I move closer
to lay a hand on your shoulder, for example,
my arm just slips through. Like a difficult subject,
one stares with commitment at the words
and comprehends the words, but they do not add up.
They have come for the space. We are about to emerge
from the forest. From a nearby hill, I can see us
making our way to the edge of distance, speaking
with animation beneath clouds shaped like anvils.
The movement catches my eye.
We make a striking pair.

Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com

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