I choose the vernacular
of dance—a small silent s,
and sway with you
in oceanic nothingness
like an aquatic spirit,
ethereal, letting form
define me. I do not have
to speak. In the curve
of your body, there is
no such thing as secret.
I know you without
knowing. A mystery—
each morning,
you appear,
a little question
at my side—still
with emotion. We spin,
a lathe of love, tails
locked like slender
fingers inscribing
our names,
the tiny history of us
into the seabed beneath
coral—no other future
in sight, no other shape
for us to consider.
