It’s there and not there
as the body of your beloved,
and you as well, two in one,
but also separate, there—there
beneath the covers, completely
covered, then gone when gazed
upon as only a body and not
the other who hums. As a body
that lives in both the inner
and outer world, it wakes
in your dreams to tell you
you burn invisibly for now
and maybe then as well,
depending on how you love.
So, there it lies in bed with you
beneath the veil of your beloved—
the body that takes its form
from dreams to behold and hold
as other, the same but different,
joined, if only for a moment
in the fire from which your flame
arose. “Hello,” you say and hear
its echo. “Hello.” You kiss it then
and watch it wake beneath your
body, open its eyes and stare
into yours where snow is burning
and write in the silence of your
staring that your heart is a vast
irrational archive for every conceit
there is about love. A guest, it says,
worthy to be here for a while, a moment,
a second. You know I’m here by the way
I move between you and your beloved.
By the way you trace me on your sheet
in the dark without ever saying my name.