As If My Heart Were Open

Come, give me
your hand; let us close
our eyes and lay
heels of palm together
till our digits align
to span our interface,
a landscape more complex
than language, where
deep rivers and rattlesnakes
buzz and pool
between muscular tugs
of the mountains round
while subtle flickers
of pressure trace the influence
of each passing cloud. In here
is a forecast, a foretaste
of which levels and fields
we'll sport on and how,
which dodge through
mismatch or fear, what
learn from each other,
a synopticon more
intimate than a kiss.


                                 13 Oct 01
                                 to no one yet