commingled

i move back through old words --
a fine litter of gestures between them.
unscaffolded music,
tuneless and splintered.
you're under my skin
sumliminal, painless.

we are.
our structure disguised,
revealed only through footnotes and
side glances --
peripheral hymns rising sourceless.
i almost recall the chorus.

light so loud i cannot hear my
own footsteps as i
walk across the room
towards you. it's as if
i don't exist, while you fold and return
fresh sheets of sunlight to their source.
free at last
from the earth's
possessiveness.

word by word, i return each moment, each
verse, each paper thin
conversation
to silence.

for days i go without speech
beyond absolute necessity.
i find nothing absolute.
gesture's amplify in meaning and complexity.
the slightest movement in
my lover's resting hand,
one digit's bare shift,
an unfinished sentence ...
the slow, easy flow of
a large dark bird in upslope.
a feather filters to my feet.

all angle and oval with implication,
endlessly almost too much
for me. ingredients lost
to amalgamation
turning and turning, one breath
blended across
the blades of a fan, golden
wheat gone to white
ghost powder in a mill - rebuilt.
inert substance.
sustenance.