Sonata

My hands’ suicides in you a matter of touch.

One circle leaning, left to hold you right.

Do we, in shock, both levitate too much,

Two souls through tears twined twinly tight?

I hold your side as in our eager flight

(Three lifetimes’ worth of joy we boldly clutch)

We tear the sky apart in shards of night

For levitations claims what’s left in such

A wind that blossoms; hand in hand we walk.

Five steps you take to envelop my flank.

My hands’ suicides in you a smudgèd chalk.

Six years and more a circle speaks its truth:

Which truths to tell? Which thought tells us be frank?

—Twelve times the pealing bell, clamouring to soothe.

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