1.
What did I know of consequences?

The game delighted, so I played

like a child, heedless, unaware

of the migration of senses.

First, my eyes, translating the world,

drifted into yours, layering sight,

mirror-mazing perception. Was it my face

then, or yours, that I looked upon?

Then, my skin stretched – the whorls

on my fingers like galaxies, the lines

on my palms like rivers across sand

dunes – and my body grew beyond

itself, beyond yours. With our left

hand I reached up to drape a fine

cirrus sky shawl across my shoulders.

With our right, I stroked the wind.

Our Siamese legs straddled distances.

I breathed your breath, you thought

my thoughts, both of us configured

into the folds of one space. Who was

I then? What were my thoughts?

Where did I stop and you begin? 
2.
Yes, once there were no boundaries,

and we were both lost, adrift on land

extending in every direction as far

as shimmering hallucinations could

rise – the directions merging,

indistinguishable; the space around

us vast and thirsty; our words

emptying into it like the last drops

from a canteen, rivulets drying out

as they were spoken. Reckless,

I promised water, you promised

shelter when there was none –

and we cupped trust in our hands

and made-believe. Without boundaries,

we shrivelled in the heat;

the earth’s crust scorched our feet,

the unremitting sun burnt our skin.

I wilted in a haze of silent recrimination:

shamed, overcome by so much space. 
3.
I/you/we do not occupy this space

alone. Place an ear against the stars

or on the ground, let your skin tingle

as if a storm approaches, pay heed

to the movement of ants. Resonances

multiply: a tension in the air, a low

hum, a faint vibration. Who built

this cairn of rocks? What spirit watches

over this place? What does this hill,

that tree, these boulders signify?

What other markers are strewn about

this land that you and I cannot see? 
4.
Out of grief I drew a line in the sand,

raised a fence, tried to explain

that you would find me always

behind it, that you could come

and visit me here as often as you

want, on the understanding that

after each visit you would leave again –

so that I could grow back into myself,

my small body, my hands; so that

I could touch your cheek and know

that it was yours; so that I could be

outside the tears in your eyes.