We stand together where the earth
finds us, fairly close, could be
our fingers touch; two stones mating
and it's cold, instantly breakable.
I can't blow your blood
round if it stops,
we can only pretend. You should
be told there is a limit to this
heartbeat and looking like
the same piece of machinery;
that someone else will disconnect
the necessary organs, break off
the productive flow; that one half of us is
daubed with different time.
You should be told.
or perhaps you already know
and the craft today is how
you blindfold your tomorrow.
Maybe you see how separate we are,
even when our breath feels now
like one delicious thought.
copyright Alex May '72