physics (April 3)

between what makes you, you
and what makes me, me
is the space that makes us, us.

science says we can never touch.
atoms and molecules
cultivate narrow alleys,
breaths between each other,
air to fill their lungs
lest they smother
and collapse
in a gravelly pile of gravity.

the ravines of void
hewn between you and me
seem not to protest at all
when your hand meets mine;
there is much more to touching
than the matter of mass
and its form.

Falling For

Here, the wind takes my voice,
opens my palms against its own hands
and unwinds my arms
so I stand,
quiet and not quite still,
always glancing down.

There are stars in the alley there,
lights and noises,
heat and glitter,
warmth and impossibility.
From a lightless night I gaze
into a fury, a passion,
a joyful shout
of life below.

I shuffle my feet
along my makeshift veranda
and my beloved emptiness
shifts and fills the space for me.

stay, stay, stay with me,
it breathes into my mouth.

It whips into my eyes and I shut them.
I could stay here.
I could precariously build a residence
on this tired precipice,
my toes digging into the abstract overhang
like I’m peering down a concrete ledge.

or,
like leaves,
like words
too quick to be recalled,
I could trip down
and
fall.