Smiling through my own memories of painful excitement
your wide eyes stare
        and narrow like a lost forest of childhood stolen from
two eyes that are the sunset of
                                                          two knees
                                                                             two wrists
                                                                                               two minds
and the extended philosophical column, when they conducted
the dialogues
                   in distant Athens, rests on your two ribbon-wrapped
                   hearts, white
        credibly agile
                                   scimitars of a city-state

where in the innocence of my watching had those ribbons
become entangled
           dragging me upward into lilac-colored ozone where I
                    and you continued to smile as you dropped the
                    bloody scarf of my life
                                     from way up there, my neck hurt

                    you were always changing into something else
                    and always will be
                    always plumage, perfection’s broken heart, wings

                    and wide eyes in which everything you do
                    repeats itself simultaneously and simply
                                                   as a window “gives” on something
it seems sometimes as if you were only breathing
          and everything happened around you
because when you disappeared in the wings nothing was then
          but the motion of some extraordinary happening I hadn’t
the superb arc of a question, of a decision about death

          because you are beautiful you are hunted
                   and with the courage of a vase
                           you refuse to become a deer or tree
                   and the world holds its breath
                           to see if you are there, and safe

                                    are you?