someone took a pair of scissors to the sky today,
the way the light burst through a sliced-open seam in the storm clouds,
the city across the lake still in a fog and the water
in a tantrum

you are all chocolate curls and puppy dog eyes,
family fireplace warmth,
lips magnetized to my skin and transparent smiles,
and she's quiet in silver revelatory haze--

in this quantum-split universe I've been
living in the wrong halves, in the storms, and even I
would have rather been left for dead
again

but your palms make me angry that I ever
trained myself to swallow rain,
convinced I could make dresses out of fog--
I am angry that I wanted anything besides you,

and I love you,
the way you glow with fervent comfort,
dripping in sunlight