Crystalline

You are looking at
the way the light is coming in
as if it is made of something
like the creatures in the doorway

I wipe your hands and face
I tell you some of the story before
you sleep for a while
you breathe
as breathing people do
I watch your chest move

your mouth falls open
a deeper dream
your lashes dark velvet
the lines on the lids of your eyes
are some sort of feathery pale plum colour
they weave a path to the blue threads
as if we are made of something
more than yolk and wicker
as if the sun will not die

I hold you up while you walk over
lift you
to the table
where we eat
with our hands
while the wax melts away
the moon has been out all along

you look over to the tree in the garden
gnarled roots and coils of flesh
water that collects beneath
as if they are all made of the same things
strings silk cascaded
theories to swamp our heads
particles and waves

birth and fatality
fragile and sharp
painful loops
whatever makes things
crystalline
blossom
back again
from the darkness returned

stars made from our oldest tombs
like glass
the word descendent is paper thin
if names could be collected
with braided tongues
of mothers
offspring in disguise
a delicate chaos of time

ceasing only when
the engraved watch stilled
in the hollow drawer
of driftwood echoes
wrapped in faded pages
if it was a story
you told me
to collect together
I don’t know which part
is mine
to remember