filters
To touch my hair to your chest,
to wonder at your closed eyelids
with my shivering fingers:
would that make this more real?
If you threw wide your arms,
would I be drawn inside
or thrown back, amazed
by the thrill in your eyes?
Through the cast of yellowed
lace and shimmering novelty,
battling each other for sway,
I blink at you.
I no longer wonder if you
could turn my arms to wings,
whether flying would be so wrong,
but there are still questions:
how your eyes glint
when anger turns to passion and
whether the wind makes you homesick
for places you've never been.
Give me your wing, difference,
until we tire of each other's stories
and know the words before they're formed,
claw at one another one last time
before sunset.
Pause before the blaze
mid-flight
so I might say goodbye
and through this liquid filter,
whisper your name into my attic
for the grandchildren to find.
Forever laughs
and we've yet to lock hands.
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word arrangement on this page © April Palleria, 2003