Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2018  Vol. 17 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Mate Madrigal

Which was it said take me with you—
body or mind? Which leapt first
toward him, walking in dusk’s molten ingot
transversing the lawn, as a lone swan thirsted,

blue geisha on the fake lake, dragging in wake
foam’s bridal train. As if they were colliding,
constellations & colostrum awoke beneath lace,
cells, ovaries, already recalculating to new tides,

weft, then warp, though I couldn’t move.
The future did not love us yet. I loved it.
Pale with oil, with fingertips of snow, then kindling,
I brushed the enchant, the loom, his woolen jacket.

A gesture chaste enough. Touch just a whisper.
But in that synaptic stitch I was named forever.