If I could see a still life,

I would see it changing.

She is more fluid than I

and calls to me.

(We are different objects now.)

It is the only thing

happening—this moment:

so small the circle of her curving.

With a terror

I let those

bits and pieces go

(the trivial)

to flow into the image

to burn

into another world

where I am not known.

In the night, where I am,

I don’t need to be a figure.