This is an impossibly tall
tale, one where you unfold
like plicate cloth, all knees
and elbows, machine thin.

There are miles of limbs
that end in the small square
of your back that rests
against an ever-ready palm,
every line in parallel
except the slope of shoulders
forming the sides of wide
triangles over my thumbs.

This is the softest story
I tell, all sighs and sharp
intakes of breath that get caught
in the weird angles of the lungs.

03/03/2006

Posted on 03/03/2006
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