The afternoon light did that
thing where out of my periphery
there was a flash and a glance of the face
I keep imagining as near as I could wish
the way one sees lightning
in an early summer storm
from far away,
not quite in sync with thunder;
maybe that’s when the planes
of existence float closely together
or maybe it’s my own tectonics –
memory and fantasy shifting
in such a way that I can feel
breath and laughter and whiskers
as easily as the quiet way
he makes my heart crack open.
The Word Rummager 
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