|© Beth Roberts|
Avoiding relation I go for the throat.
In the sifting traffic hourglass heart
things appear thinned, limbs in the dance
separate in the new circumstance.
Where the edge of a hand slips to the field
in a synapse so fine, yet all the world
wants a long attenuating history in its stead.
Snowflakes pivot through the gap. In my head
I repeat till it beats, I love all my loves, I love
all my love,