We have been turned into things
of light and dust.

Our bodies have become the pale blue
of a winter sky
close to the horizon, at nightfall.

There is dust on your lips and I wish
to brush the dust away with my finger
but I can’t move.

We are electric and the days fall into us:
we glow with all the many nights we’ve absorbed
the radiation of loneliness and love,
and there are small holes in our flesh which seem to be burning
though we are all surface, with an icelike glaze,
where no fire should take hold,
though the fire takes hold…

There is dust on my penis
and the dust catches light,
you try to put out the tiny flames with your hands
and with your mouth, you cry
but the sparks flit like aphids across the distance
between our two bodies
then you, too, begin to burn,
your dress comes open and turns to rags

Our sighs of protest
are lost on the wind, like parachutists
caught in the trees
we turn and twist,
you moan and I’m helpless, we wonder
how much further can there be
beyond heaven, how much longer must we
suffer such gorgeous indignity?

Your face is puzzled at the same time
We were not built to endure
this bliss that corrodes us,
the afterlife
was not meant to be so complicated,
we were intending
to be pure,
we were not supposed
to be found wanting.

There is light on your arms,
light coming out of your mouth and out of your breasts,
and out of your vagina and eyes and anus,

I want to brush the light away
so you can have darkness and sleep,

but wherever we go now
we carry this light within us

and even to ask for darkness
makes the light shine.