fire slipping through your thumbs, setting
the air ablaze, shaping
the space around you in cherries and swirls. your hands
are the tools of an architect running wild, the soles of your feet
grow roots through the earth to the stars below.
you are a string to the universe, entwining
its strangest melodies in the pattern of your dance,
you are the cure and the disease, the peak of the morning
when light claims her kingdom once again,
the forward pull of a blood orange horizon as the day recedes,
gently asking for permission to stray. you are
the compass that straightens your spine to the top of the afternoon,
day after day, the dancer swirling the stars to midnight,
the moment between one breath and another, to die
and be reborn, always in small doses. the night in me
bows to the night in you, endless and forever entwined-
and now we are running barefoot through the sky.
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