Here’s where I was before he met you,
before his reason for sunrise.
You shook his hand with flames
and said hello, with little regard for my home.
He didn’t hear a word about your zodiac sign
or about your theories on rebirth.
He only stared at your eyes, the night’s edge
and sang your name wavering in fog.
There’s never been music here before.
Here’s where I was before he met you:
I was living inside the dead man’s body
using his shawl of solitude to cover myself.
I was watching my limbs stretch inside
his wounds on the silver of the coffin.
So still they are, the dead, so spacious.
But no more, now that he’s met you.
DQ 3/28/09
