Bivalence

Far back before the sun

made any sort of difference,

and the icicles hung like knots

in the light-grains that housed us,



I was unafraid to take your hand,

unaware of the future we unzipped

like a winter coat in late March,

thinking not so much I was touching you,



but somehow touch, and thus entering

some kind of experience. But it was remarkably

just like any other object, for something

with so many nerve endings.



Even your eyes, glowing in the halo

the sun praises from the atmosphere

in a still and timeless ring of dawnanddusk,

spin through it like a pair of fading globes.