dusk takes us for a walk

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Click here to read this poem in Portland Review

 

 

A reach for my small, emptied hand,
as though emptiness
were something to give.

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The fact of being separated in space or time.

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The grasp of wily nighttime,
of soft blanket,
of ways to respond,
whispers close to silence.

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A combining together
or marrying.

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I was wondering where we were.

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Years of ocean,
waves –
black, indestructible diamonds—
cut toward and away from shore.

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The quality of being related.

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The brain will wrap it up,
deliver its package –
in paper with shiny geometrics –

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For now, we
accept its statement,
like the dictionary’s,
of what a thing is.

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