I write to you in
Red: twelve paper
Pilgrims, each clambering
Through the mountainous communion of
A month to a
Temple of rain-dance and winter
Sunlight. I imagine
You watching me
Cutting the first
Slice in an early
June evening, one-handed as we
Fold our fingers into
An origami of Chinese shadow
Birds, as I blow
The eighteen
So we can share our Eucharist
By the light of fingernail
Stars of
White icing and angels’-feather
Sprinkles. “What did you
Wish for?”
Maybe one day
Will sing me
To sleep in the shower. Maybe
You will be my bubbles to rise in,
And ecstatic as a sand-storm
In our sleepy eyes, and
Maybe we will
Shatter over the glass in a
Caligraphy of lullaby
Heartbeats and tarantella
Bells, a tangle of mist
And breathlessness
Around our plastic sky and brass
Curtain-rail horizon.
“What did I wish for?
Maybe one day, I will tell you.”

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