I flicked the light on in the day
and walked the hall to the green
room, looking through the window
for words to mark the boundaries of
how beautiful you are,
as if I could sieve them
from water flowing to the
caves, or dancing up
from the winter garden.

I thought about you as
you sat behind your laminated
desk, waiting the
three o'clock trumpets to
slay the sacrificial lamb
on the third floor
breakroom of Microsoft;
your pipe, the
hole in your heart that
matches mine. I slip in and out
from it, as from my own.

I thought about your
soul today and painted an iris
on it. Deep chromatic blues with
softer shades of powder spilling
over to be touched. You tilted
with the wind.

June 20o3
Mia Moore


"Another balance of words against a photograph." —Kirk Front Page Pick June 03 Blender of Love
2002 May 03