the way you broke the world into constituent parts
drifted continents to handle the governing flux
collapsing the repeated valleys of the folded map
to touch the Arctic to my temperate towns.
we were surrounded by the images of
fingers in the grasp of wool (the tips gently
whisk across the glitter of the years I was allotted) less
of our shrouded faces but still more like naked skin.
perhaps the text that lingers in the darkened channels
where the rivulets of memory flow and
begin to crystallize in autumnal shards and flutes
and spires where I find
what we left behind in crowded rooms.
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