Acrobats practicing balance
turn to obelisks at the threshold
of your gaze. Stonehenge.
Insects crawling by
the riverbed solidify as
as you kneel to drink. Pebbles.
Music notes fall from air,
petrify and shatter
as you walk by. Dust.
Here in my mirror, you tame
the indigo mane of snake hair
with both hands. Stone maker.
I would believe the myth
if it wasn’t for the fact
that you are bouncing
on the liquid that use
to be my hips as I
melt beneath you.
