as if what flesh once desired
found embodiment in this opening.
Sudden as epiphany, though not
earth-shattering— A square of paper
come to light again after many months
hidden in a drawer, inked lines
of handwriting. Despite such careful
unfolding, all that language
cannot dress beyond compression:
shimmer of what called our names
even after the curtain was drawn.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.