tortoiseshell
Given a comb
of tortoiseshell I would
cross your hair of
nightwater.
I would watch
your face fall wide and tame
beneath dark eyes.
Given a map, aged
in crackling paper folds
I would leave it 
on the hutch with every 
careless intention. I would 
guide you 
to guide me 
to the places where all
borders disappear.
I would cast my reel
into the midnight lake. 
I would sing to
you in every key
and ask your ghosts
to lift their feet as I swept
beneath their seats.
I would watch your face
fall wide and tame beneath 
dark eyes, given you. 


10 may 01
Mia Moore