rare moments these, the meeting of our minds, the mingling of our laughter, the sharing of a silence, contemplating the boundaries of what we are

for all that I considered her a lover, the sea was as cold and indifferent to me as the sky

we dare not speak of it, this myth between us, but merely add story after story, tale after tale, until it becomes too fantastical for us to tell

ours was the touch that slipped like a silent ghost between dust motes in sunshine

ours was the dance of the eternal, never quite reaching, never quite touching, like dust motes in sunlight

ours was the unhurried accretion of intent, the patient unfolding of desire, simplicity reduced to complexity reduced to chaos

ours was the glance, the smile, the momentary stories built into the myth that ever lies between us

hope folded upon itself, until it was a bright dense star within, heavier than all the despair in all the world, and then it folded again and again until it was heavier than all the universe, and I could not but put it down in a palpable, weeping relief

a beauty was born elsewhere, elsewhen

solace taught us nothing but the absence of what was sought

bleak is the place in-between

i am bewitched by the mythology of your quiet