time as a funhouse hall of mirrors, fractured

do you feel alone today?

although i wrap you in me, it may seem

vain reassurance. do you regret much, or long?

in your eyes, i can see worlds of regret, and i

dare not speak, dare not say the words, even

supposing i knew what they should be.

too many sunsets. sunsets and snowfalls,

horizons broad and limitless and empty

in your eyes. if only you could stop the clockwork,

reach up, grab the decade hand and hold it

there, hovering, breathless. unfortunately,

you breathe; your body is a precise instrument.

should i lose you in me? should i allow that

ecstatic oblivion? the body is also animal, and

can live eternities in a single convulsion, an

opening and enclosing. i have lost myself

nearly completely, over and over in your

dense seduction. i cling to myself, and abandon again.

believe me — if i could give it to you, unnameable it,

i would, down to my skin, to my blood and bones.

reaching to hold you up, my hands slip, pass

through, and i do not know which is the insubstantial.

hollows and edges, your face at night paints

despair better than any words, and if your sharp

angles shift to welcoming curves, if you smile gladly,

you reassure kindly, i am not convinced, fragile one.

*****

M.A. Mohanraj

March 28, 1998

for David,

who will not thank me,

on his birthday