mirror of the rooted flesh,
you give color in combinations and permutations
your words traverse light years to reach my cells,
the purified oblivion of my fingertips
I think of the storm of blood in July:
it rained for weeks then, hot and full and noisy
to match the beating violence of your heart.
I ask for you in silence; my words are colorless.
I stand outside the locked doors of time.
I empty myself in the largeness of these spaces.