With a swell in space without—
or is it with a magic wand?—
I suddenly wave all outer sound,
and one ever lingers nearby,
comes closer still, as close as can be,
and my pose—offers him a bed
in which love obtains its weight
and body and breath blend as one
everywhere—all about—gap by gap,
track by track—thus I see and learn
what gem is but the briefest touch
and something of the mirror’s envy too
for its face knows nothing of the depth
where, across the world, souls of lovers fuse.
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