Knowing 17

I wonder if I’d know
if your heart stopped beating.
Would the sky turn to brass
all sound cease?
Could I take the next breath?
Could I give it to you instead?
Your skin is
layered under mine.
Surely you can’t shed yours
unless I go first?

Knowing 15

The years of the struggle with me
and the sunlit years with another.
It’s still a privilege.
I’ll know I was in the trenches with you.
We might die here together
or I will get you out, whatever it takes.
If fortune smiles, we’ll walk out alive
together.
And if we part then:
still, it will have been an honour.

Knowing 14

The gravitational pull of this strange attraction
draws me to your side
through walls and time,
night and distance.
To your side and closer,
I fall through your ribs,
long bones cracking to fit through the bars,
and come to rest under your heart.
Blind and deaf and dumb,
my senses sieved from me
in passing through your walls,
I melt into you,
alloying your pain with my own.

Knowing 13

At once stranger,
and more ordinary,
the texture of your days,
than anything I
could have expected.
The world through your eyes,
sharper and more vibrant
than anything I see;
then smoke and haze covers your sight,
and you wander lost
through crystal clarity.
I call out the stepping stones,
you send me warnings.
We both can see,
we both are blind,
and hearing is so hard.