A valley for light
to follow, the way a hand
will follow the curves of the body,
then, while the moon lolls night's circumference,
two follow the banks of sleep to meet in the bed's sloped center.
They're numb to the buzz beneath
their feet: the pulse of mourning
returned to component parts,
ideas about you and me and the space
by a sentence that, scrambled,
Bell would spend summers
to send his words over light waves,
and mirrors. Imagine: He'd watch
of what he meant. It didn't catch on.
hang between us; and even when
In Posse: Potentially, might be ...