She asked could I validate her stone,
a nocturnal perspective
I told her I would,
“I would,” she echoed
Ballast is a thing
to discard, baggage on the trek
A one-track trick
she’d endeavor to remember
when hearts held fast in amber
ere embers
“All too many.”
She said,
“…it’s a crime to rhyme.”
“Maybe,” I pondered
“Maybe next time?” she lilted
quizzingly lyrical
I roll her around
in my mind, my mouth
my blood a roil
Viscera expands
to engulf the whole plain
“I’m thirsty. You thirsty?” she asks
and pours cool water from a blue clay ewer
She sees I am confused by
the sudden appearance of sky and wind
“You knew all along!”
“Wrong. Not all along.”
Well, just recently then
I succumb to her engulf
Swept windblown in dramatic arc
stretching tendon to body
En pointe
and flex
She and I are all the world
after all
Chagall 2018
