I am here—
deciphering echoes. Left hand’s
got to trust right: the way two bodies
move in the darkness together,
separate, grooving into another’s flesh
like music—always like music.
How things do go on.
In the shrinking hours
dance hall shadows shine and pulse
and erupt into anger,
barrelhouse bursting into a lake of flame.
We spew
into fist-cold night—snowflakes
floating, fickle, small miracle
amid the ash. The air explosive,
eager with kerosene. What is worth
going back in for, what is worth
fighting over—sometimes
there is no difference:
the word I’m looking for is love.
