Marriage
I touched your shadow on the table,
dreaming of luminous nebulae,
milky sisters, and a vague stroll
across the archipelagos.
That was our innocence.
But the things we touched
were made of our lives
and there were continents
I could not cross.
Husks of light fell between us:
Flowers too hard to pick, their shades
of quartz half-buried in dust.
The trees resembled us:
their leaves touched
with delicate solitary movements,
leaving behind them the
dark wood of the tree,
ending somewhere in the
clear space beyond.
The trees, each one imprisoned
in its strength, like a ship,
straining in the wind, unable to slip
the deep anchors that bind it,
and keep it close.