How difficult is it to see
and breathe the spirit of
someone different, lights
on in another color, maybe
red-orange or a soft butter-
cream yellow that smiles
without showing teeth?
How hard is it to remain
unseen, unknown but for
a smattering of naked facts
that anyone could see
online if she Googled or
spent three minutes
browsing, as if for a dress?
How hard is it to know and
be transparent –
window-like – with
someone so safe, so flawed
but authentic, that a hand
full of stones is no threat,
but a chance to discuss
ancient geography?
Not Quiet Any More 