The
tender gesture can resurrect the world
that’s
fallen out around you, heedlessly, again.
It
needn’t be much: a finger lifting your chin,
and
lips touching your eyes, cheek on herle
of
hair-oh to let out the cry, a skirled
longing
that may be as old as the begin-
ning
of you, when you screamed. Outside, let
me in!
and
probably already terribly hurt.
I’ve
had the wish to dissolve myself
when
it was too much, in a whisper, a stealth
of
undoing; to con-, or sub-, or retrovert.
The
gesture of despair projects
Louder
than words; tenderness surrounds and resurrects
K
