Every slightest gasp of breath
that clears my shoulders of their weight
belongs between the slightest space
that grip the letters of your name
and all the running, shouting sounds
of children playing in the street
the sanctuary where they bound
bears a shadow of your frame
You’re thick inside relief, my dear,
the air hangs flat- its languidness
in awe of piercing shafts of light
which knife them at their brightest core
your coursing spate of energy
tumults the dust, reshapes the room
encapsulates the shredded mass
and leaves the fragments pleading more
As I have pranced this newborn space
and shed my skins of weariness
I’ve ascertained a whimsy fact
that I have found forever true:
I cannot cut the air, my dear
without delightful consequence
of lacerating you