these long fingers that smooth away into shadow
at your side
and I am watching them there
at your side
wrapped consecutively in the dark
of your soft coat sleeve
pulled down to conceal them with
the thoughtless gesture of one
who does not seem himself as others do
but only a story that he is telling
from me to you and no response
is possible but only this
that his hands will retreat from open mine
up the mouth of that cloth cave
the magicians rabbit within the hat again
But back they flicker with the sudden spark
that your train of thought throws
against these senseless rails
holding us back from the sidewalk
and i am constrained in my seat
watching the strangeness and the shadow meet
melting one into the other
until i am watching nothing
but the swinging shape of the dark against the ground
like swallows swooping in the twilight
and then they fall again
two still hands at your side
and i drop my eyes to stare at the sidewalk
looking sidelong at at your long fingers
you are telling me a story
of who you are and why
when and how and that you are fine
and i stand by your side
knowing you are lying
how strange your hands look
without mine
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