Open Spaces
Open
Spaces
by Kevin
Cahill
when she
looks at me
I
understand only
that we
have to get
this
close
to see
how infinitely
far away
we are
from one another
I have to
caress her bare skin
carefully,
tenderly
to feel
how far we have
stretched
the tissue of gesture
the skins
of words
that
clothe us barely
and when
I look into her green eyes
I
understand only
that I
might not be
here or
there
that to
dwell daily
in the
heart of open spaces
that to
fall nightly
into
their spiraling silences
is to be
held aloft
even if
only for an emerald instant
before I
behold those eyes
dart down
like falling stars
and,
plotting their trajectory,
I spy the
safe harbor of a
hardbound
book on the bedspread
or the
narrow, familiar terrain
of her
own wrist…
and when
at length,
her eyes
are swept
back up
to me behind
their
lovely lashes
I
understand not even
this much
June 29,
2007
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