by Sarah Law**
You love the way my hair falls
over your bones, your prone body, how
I choose to cover you with words
so close to your own. From here
I can't imagine why we ever worried,
even the span of my hand, small
compared with yours, fits to your plan.
I write you down in barely perceptible
whispers, just so I know you exist;
you look for patterns that promise us
an ultimate alignment. It's so crystal clear,
the night sky's X-ray. Bright with symmetry.
I can't expose myself to this often;
I'd end up broken, on the floor,
like a cutting waiting to be swept
clean of its own implications. Tether me
to this quiet language. This one prophecy.