Certain Bodies...

In the dance of a crowd,

going around-and-to,

most bodies are easy to pass—

but then there's you.

Certain bodies

have gravity,

and take work 

not to press into:

I shook your hand,

that looks, in a photograph,

like any person's hands (skin with

hard nails, funny folds, palms damp, knuckles dry).

But wrapped in my fingers it felt strong and—I don't know,

real?      Not   inert        clay

to squish            and             pass         by.

I stood so close that

your head,               for a long breath,

was floating                             timed with mine

(two tree tops,                                    caught in a breeze)—

I was so present then;

I didn't think of Me as there,

but a gooey part of the Everywhere,

with You. I did not fear its end.

For a day or two, I

carried that calm inside,

that your body sprang in mine

(right as nature, boundary-melting

as time), but now—like an infant,

when a song stops—

my thoughts grow loud;

reaching, divining, for

your magnetic peace

as I dance through

a blurry crowd.....