her ...
He is all brittle glass and bone,
jagged and small.
to sink beyond his reflection,
down into the hollow that is not empty,
is to find me.
i am also small.
we share that pause in the endless
between each breath,
each ragged little moment
cradled in hands
too narrow to capture us both.
so we swing together in the sky,
each wondering which
is illusion
and how this dance ends.
though, truthfully, each knows:
i rise as He rains.
him ...
She is all cotton-shaped skin,
formless and shifting.
to fall from her weave,
down onto the boiling stone that is not real,
is to lose me.
there i am unthreaded.
we share that movement, caught
between mind and dream,
between want and need
and, after She exhales me,
that space fills with guilt.
so we spiral together,
each a strand
of DNA
that never blends.
though, i do not mind
having never been real enough.
me ...
.
.
.
Silver trophy winner
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John
