Tangled thread captures his wrist-
A meaning no technology,
Without losing the fray
That curls lines within lines
And makes both beginnings and ends
To be no less than a rainbow’s arc
Curled around his covered head.
A brow – fierce in the strobe
And gentle in the day that
His brown eyes look out upon-
Dappled like a clearing,
Changing like a waterfall;
A shimmering entrance to his soul,
And much harder to see through
In silence, he offers the present only
As stories drop like stones
And become a rockbed of no direction;
For all paths bear his mark,
But he bears none.
My gaze knocks at his
Like a leaf discovering flight.
A quiver becomes a smile
When he catches me,
And “Rien” escapes his lips,
Inviting everything I am to dance
In his strange and gentle kiss.