Asymptote of Affection
The restriction of
this yearning is
mathematical:
the graph of an
equation with a
variable in
the denominator, so
its physical form cannot
reach this exact
value, only approach
with unceasing
closeness this
desire that
exposes infinite
separation. The curve
wants to merge into
this one line it
never can touch. It
loves this line more
than any other space
it casually crosses.
This is obsession.
The curve almost
straightens to get closer.
Uprising
Darkness awaits the earth’s turning a face
away from the sun; then the rising begins,
hesitantly, until the scheduled absence
of the moon is confirmed. Now darkness
starts to take the small things
on the ground: Dirt, pebbles, twigs, blades
of grass fall to its hunger,
consolidate its power so it can
swallow the edges that define
rivers, trees, mountains. Nothing
can contest its push to devour
the sky; surely the stars
with tiny points of light
cannot pierce this massive force,
restrain it until rays of sun
march over the horizon.
