Conversation Fragment
There are minutes that grow silence in my eyes:
Where are the clouds moving? you ask.
The evening sky with low clouds is dim.
To your hair, I say.
Is that why my eyes can rain?
That's why your eyes can rain.
Are my eyebrows not thick enough
to ward off? you ask while
raising your eyebrows. It shouldn't reach!
The drizzle outside the window, do you see?
You put your forehead against the window glass.
You wince.
Cold, you say, holding my hand.
The glass conveys the cold outside
to the inside.
Every boundary can
become a bridge.
So is this hug: crossing the warmth
of my shoulder to your shoulder
my fireflies to your heart
butterflies to your smile.
What is this for? You try to ask
when I kiss your hair while closing my eyes.
To divert those clouds
from my eyes, I say.