.



          It ended at the beginning, in a dismal

          Station with frozen chokes and nullifying

          Wheels. It began in gentle purblind chaos

          In misunderstanding. All best tempests do.



          It takes the merest moment to be branded.

          On a crowded chair submission felt like

          Gravity. Subtle brush-strokes wrought

          Searing irons for the strike: delicate, enough.



          It was not enough. Not even close. In close hours

          I was re-spun as you showed me new words

          From the careful space behind your thoughts.

          Motion seemed trespassing and sweet.



          That instant which cleaves us is circumstance;

          The invisible charnel of spires and channels.

          Profane circumstance, inclement and awesome. But

          If I was sabotage's packhorse, you bore its deliverance.



          Uncorroded and brilliantine but parcel-gilt,

          The ripping apart of nascent bonds chambers me

          And stays. Like cymbals and ciphers, like

          Messages and memories: Interiors -- and nothing more.




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