X Y
If X equals Y there is less than an island
between them. If X equals sky then there is
almost room for Y in the concave of X’s body.
If X is burned, Y is also burned. But curiously,
with a pretty red. If X has a figure, Y grows
fainter in the sun. If X has a figure, Y is doomed.
Don’t look back now. There is a blithe and pithy
future before us. X is pouring out a better life. Y
is smoking a cigar. How could we leave them alone?
X is standing in the rain. Y is painting X standing
in the rain. This is called an artful gesture. How else
to remember the hurt map we’ve marked? Once
there was a brush fire and everything burned but one
single weed. Y loves this story. Y tells it to X
but X can only hear that we are dropping bombs
somewhere and each shadow is just a faint clue.
If the top of the piano shined any brighter in the sun
there would be no music. Or only music. Maybe X
dreamt Y. Maybe Y is lit up. Maybe Y glows with X.
There is a country of possible ways to love another.
X is full of awe. Y has some. Both are full of history
and hipbones and everything we don’t know yet.
Between X and Y there is a whispering of I will keep
you I will keep you I will keep you. A sighed counting
of any combination of lovers who are not us.
