THE ONE WHO

The veil drops, like a dime, the other shoe,
a high heel no doubt, dropped from on high.
In this redoubt of doubt, this fortress
of solicitude, you reach out to grasp
a hand & clasp your fingers round a cloud.
Partly sunny, but still. The sun never
forgets a face, only what that face meant,
once. The light, diffuse. Did I say veil?
I meant mask. The eyes, a dead giveaway.
The question goes unasked. I won’t say no,
how could I? Time will give you the reasons.
How tender becomes tinder, & tinder
tender, & how both collapse into take.
How something sighs, extends, & strokes opaque.