If I could see a still life,
I would see it changing.
She is more fluid than I
and calls to me.
(We are different objects now.)
It is the only thing
happening—this moment:
so small the circle of her curving.
With a terror
I let those
bits and pieces go
(the trivial)
to flow into the image
to burn
into another world
where I am not known.
In the night, where I am,
I don’t need to be a figure.