Tuck your hair beneath your teeth.
Brush away the strays.
Here, I examine you.
The curly haired woman,
the wide eyed man,
The sick mother,
the gray haired sculptor.
Hundreds of you lie on the skin.
Nothing but dots to my eye.
And yet continue to swarm, toe to toe, nose to nose.
Laying that becomes
one to two.
Unforeseen, the wind pulls.
You wave with your hands above your head,
higher and higher.
Becoming many, become nothing.
Yet continue as you were,
to mingle, to sway.
To push on the skin of the other, to break.
To dust, to that of which twinkles in the solar plexus.
I crane my neck to see where you had gone.
But no more
can I decipher the moles from the dying stars
The sun begins to peek in the horizon.
And one must wonder his own wants.
May it to lie.
To tuck the hand beneath the chin.
To let breath mingle with dust.
