Poem: A Moment When Stars Cross

By: Kayla Swanson

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Clothed, as in darkness, of serious amethyst hues
binding in mystery to reveal hiddenness your secrecy
a vague wanderer led by hopes from the inside.

Into the din of chatter you enter stiff as a tightrope walker
I’m struck, only, by the pierce of your eyes
as we digest life in particles, the smallness of the matter.

Clear marble skin and expressions etched stone, yet her
sheer presence encompasses one as a magnetic pole
impels lightening to traverse the continents of earth.

Broken liars’ songs whisper in my ear, I fear
your gaze, for restraint as an unscrupulous game
preparing you to be consumed, oh, yes I presume.

Your hand tangles the weaves of your hair, inviting
your life to be upended, for a thing without end
a thing that may never let you come back the same again.

As you breathe, your name spirals in unrelenting depth
the sparkle in night is what I live for
but I must pause for your unseen guide and muse.

Unseemly tremor through your lips into my eyes
I see him walk your inner halls in burlap brown
immutable sights there are to behold.

The world pauses eternally to stare, we have a small affair
I don’t care, he shakily points past dimly lit walls
to refined, gilded figures in deep bronzes and golds.

You laugh and sigh, I can only wonder at your eyes
winged victory inside where visions of ecstasy hide
contained in lines all within some constructed confine.

You falter in clumsy innocent into my arms, but aware
there’s something that moves within you like an arrow
it flies and it glows but it does not burn what it shows.

The shimmer of your eyes, ¦I’m lost in paralysis
as a meticulous unseen hand sets into motion
a revolution of all the grounds of our notions.

Don’t look away, or turn your body, be still
for something within you is already beating
a beat within a breast that has its own beat.

The small cloth in my grasp is all that remains
from one moment that was a sharing of the beats
a commonality of life’s ebb’s and flows
a sharing of one’s innermost, of one’s very own.

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