WE MEET NO STRANGER, BUT OUR SELF

suffices when others are otherwise

engaged. I speak and as quickly

forget you are in another place

retelling the story of how we met,

the night it happened, you

descending a snow bank, me all

sharp elbows and collarbones,

wary the end may come quickly,

with great force. I drifted

from my body, landing upside down.

Someone spoke in the spaces

where my words went. Others were

waiting long after

our own faces had faded.

Our weeping in the meantime

was a kind of giveaway–the air

crushing in to meet us

when it became apparent I was

unable to admit

what I was asked to become

is all I am not.