In the innocence
of sweet incense,
we spoke by silence.

With our window open
to October, it inhaled
the neon evening.

Folded together like
hands cradling water—
sipping in the metallic
hymn, howling out from
passing trains, or even
the droning wind’s breath,
adorned with the cadence
of now.

Lingering in the ellipsis
of your unyielding eyes,
I find myself swallowed
by the vines of blue-green—
found strung-up with their
golden roots jetting out
of such deep stillness.