my hand. your hand. taken as the
the curtains swell. taken as moonlight
leaves tracks on the wall. as we
wade in twilight dreams. and if we
meet the matriarch of evening clouds.
and her robes of soft gray. and her
eyes lost to shadow. and whether
she puts us in a satin purse or sends
us off to a secret heaven. whether
we swallow angels like sugar pills.
whether we hold open our hands
to forgiving rain. when the gods
from years so distant as become
cool mist, when these gods fold
us back into a storybook. when
our breath becomes scented
steam. when the world turns itself
inside-out. when we are launched
into dawn, there to hang at the
apex of a perfect arc.
