As another Spring begins, the bird’s
brain cells bloom. New songs.
Fingerprints return after the hand is burnt.
Who knows what we’re capable of?
I part the vertical ocean of clothes
and find you there. Spider,
it is almost terrifying to me – suspended
only by the work of your own body.
Too often, I surface with handfuls of air,
thinking the connecting threads were within.
What’s possible between us
1 February 2012