Love: (an echo)

 

 

I could call you my love

     -and be right.
But would you know it
before you woke in the morning.

     -The window is open.
I was alive before you,
and now wind passes over my body
like I am not.

We.   You are open.
I repose as one mass.
     -I know I am here.

I am lying naked.
     -it is on a sidewalk,
gleaming wet.   stillness.
Raindrops drip on my body
trying to avoid their own pain.
Each one makes a tiny noise.
     -It is the echo light.

Steam rises from the concrete.
Until I met you,
     -the grass was not viridian,
     -the night sky was not dark,
     -the spring breeze did not calm.

Your misty breath.   Hotter,
hugs my body where I least expect it.
I was dead for now
     -but wanting it.
I stood solid and dripping.
Freezing.   Hidden with chills.

The cold cloud stuck,
on the echo lights between.
Each space in its own self-importance.
I was glistening to the music.
     -The rising sun. warmth.

My body dried into the sheets.   evaporated.
Dried human cells flaking off,
the last of the tiny lights.
It was dark on my skin
at the border to the brighter air.
     -no echo.

Your eyelashes twitched in knowledge.
     -I called you "my love".
Sunshine fingerlings peeked over
my bare belly onto yours.
     -and was right.

Mark David Jordan, 2011