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.