I am filling the creases

I am filling the creases on your neck
and your palms, from which sand

once rose, as from the creases of
a sidewalk where a parched wind

wrestles. The unfolding of
your back revels in its grace as though

it were a sickness, or falling
leaves curling around

a current of air. My hands
falling on yours, my hands

on your unfolding back,
especially on your unfolding back, 

become poplar leaves. That I cannot
hide in a crease your smile

makes in your cheek is
my one regret as I let my eyes

shut out the light: unseen,
it will dissolve the gentle weight

of distances. I know how to
stop and start at the brim.