>You are thirty, bluebird tiny.
Nose a piece of punctuation.
Those are parts of you I notice:
shoulder shiver,
tendon quiver,
violet eyes that slake the light.

I am clumsy, thirty too.
My hands find edges, creep towards them;
My life spent in level lines.
They are safety,
and a failure.
Chances are a chance too much.


5 thoughts on “>DETAILS

  1. >She hesitates, lostStranger in her own body.Fickle memory.Walking from room to roomlooking for the thread of her thinkingCooking, gardening, computer, crochet,All rooms stare blankly backand then the door rings again.She lets me inWe make tea,we talk about familiar things,stories from beyond the fog,offset by space and timeto safe ground.Her hands are in her lapit scares meIve never seen her idlestill, meditative, disconnected.From fast and feisty, energy to burn.Her life, my inspiration.We move slowly in a domestic tai chiDiscovering and building contextand purpose with our hands.I feel a strong sense ofrehearsing my own future.Our hands and legs shakeeyes blurring.I am glad I came

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