Diaphane

Oh woman!
the beauty of your diaphanous figure
standing at the precipice–
as if a sprite, hesitating between
the earth and the sky
and my arms–

how could your small
fragile hands hold on so hard
to my shoulders
and yet i could barely feel them
we grip firmly first to the things we need
and then to those we love

your grip made enough violence for the world but
now I see you flailing–
a crimson leaf blowing in the wind
dangerously close to the dirt–
suddenly grounded & dispersed–
like the sea rubbing off
the lovers’ final footsteps in the sand.

I imagine
all of us thirstily sitting alone
in an arid desert–
leaves falling like daggers
coated in water and blood
as we try to catch them.

In their fall I see
reflections of your face - shaking -
and other sprawling paths
that haunt me with
the pressure of possibilities
each will bear down on my soul
with inane force
every day
till I
die.

But the leaves fall in passing every day in this place
and I too shall pass
beyond these dunes
until that great thirst
finds its place
in mud, water or blood.

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