Chisel her into a night
that has parted ways
with all else.
A night neither drunk nor amnesiac,
its memory having simply setwith the sun
in empathy with its fatigue.
Ordainhere a floral rush.
Ifithas the fragrance of outstretched arms,
any blossom will be enough.
Address her grief before you address her.
Unwrap tenderly her sorrow
to let it wear some moonlight on its skin.
In her ears whisper
the name shecan become, the name
she will not remember tomorrow.
Spread your longing over her limbslike
patient sandalwood paste and wait
for her to flower.
In silence’s forest help her find a voice
she will trade her sleep with, a voice
she will notrecognize at dawn.
When the sun rises,
burn the night like dead leaves and forget
how you forgot about how you slept.