— shall become as —

you put this pen in my hand and you take the pen from my hand. the night before the full moon the moon seems full. what is missing is a dark hungry sickle, the sliver of shadow eating us up inside. after the mountains breathe their mint-and-sorrow green against the long summer sky, they burst into hot october laughter, lighting the horizon with citrus, rust, and blood. you put this knife in my hand. we pull. we meet as oceans come together, heaving against and clinging across our salt watery boundary. we approach endlessly like two rails of one track, tied in a parallel that promises our eyes to merge, someplace far off in the distance. you put this feather in my palm. my fingers close around flight.