Here, the rain falls freely straight,

water between brittle stones,

crumbling blackened words

into your mouth. Daggers slip

between your fists,

a kind of skid surrendering bodies.

I close my eyes. Here, my

hands are cupped, curved to hold

silken holy-water,

that which purifies; what will strain.

I let droplets slip between

trembling fingers,

thimbles from pricking eyes.

I envision clarity, dissonance, from

our lips. I envision freedom,

hidden behind unsurmountable glass

walls. Here, your words are

blunted arrows,

fragile, brittle, fake. Definition

lost by binding sheaths. Thickened panes,

opaqueness a blinding mask.