Breath—
The Sphinx got weary
of always being the
mysterious one
out in the desert,
so she slumped off
to the nearest pub
and drank herself silly
in the middle of the afternoon
which she knew
her mother wouldn’t approve of
but she was the fucking Sphinx
and decided not to give a damn
anymore.
I drank orange juice
and thought
back to death,
standing in my kitchen
on a Wednesday morning,
raiding my fridge of last night’s
leftovers and boxed wine,
and laughing
as she watched two red birds
squabble over the bird bath.
She saw through
my pathetic attempts
at small talk and
never did explain
why she was there,
just kept showing up in my kitchen
with a sunshine smirk.
And don’t you hate it
when the batteries go out
of a thing
just as you need it?
Though it also seems to me
that every moment
is an abundance of chaos and light
and every conversation
deeper than the weather
a wild call
of this new morphing woman and man.
Sometimes I stare
out the window
and all of a sudden,
with a rush of wind
in my face,
I believe again
that we connect
to each other,
string theory vibrations
bumping into other
string theory vibrations,
resonating together,
making music.
