i’m going up and up, like hands

twining over heads in the lights and the smoke,

weaving into the music their own song

of tendon on tendon and rushing arteries.

if I lean my head back, you are there

and the melody is stronger, wilder,

begging tentatively to be touched

like a feral animal just beyond my fingers.

behind me, you are a mountain.


I lift my hands and I pray.