in your great attempts I would
have comforted you,
your fingers before bed and held 
them to my cheek

you could know every freckle, map 
the points between them until they became nothing
but compass work

while you 
gazed, solemnly past my face

into your solitude.  I would have crept there. 
Despite the human forms awaiting
your hand I would have pondered long
side you; stared at points, mirrored places,
and mazzocchios.  


© 2007 by Robyn R. Hjermstad. All rights reserved.