That quiver at the corners of her lips,
that nervous tick, quickly covered,
that first hint of an expression
only squinting eyes can see,
spends as much time simply being
as considering
what its purpose might be.

That uneasy moment once begun,
so quickly undone – but never truly undone –
is enough for me to know that with every word she speaks,
her silences grow,
filling in the sound with silence,
our conversations with ghosts,
our intimate moments so quickly coated in dust and comments unsaid
that it is quickly becoming impossible
to read the parts of us still unread.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

The world could not be ever as it began
untouched by the hands of man
once humanity began

long before she bit the apple
the snake had taken up its residence
behind her ribcage
though she did not know it

when the ark was built
human hands
counted two of each animal as they passed
gate-keeping the future from the past

The man in the clouds
with the fierce hawk-eyes
saw all of this and more
long before he bent his back to this most recent chore

With sure hands
unshaken by the sands of time
he draws lines across dunes and deserts
and low valleys
over high mountains
and along rivers
and sometimes through them

When his time was done
the world had become many from one
and he gave no thought to what man would see as signs
that these lines were drawn sacred and divine

Photo by Marjan Blan | @marjanblan on Unsplash