Amongst the stretch and squeeze of the accordion
she and I
were dancing
and pouring to one another,
in the belly point of the music,
the throat of an hourglass,
where the waltz assembles
and "I" disassemble,
where the unalike things
resemble.
Like figure 8ths
like hourglasses
like butterflies who teach mirrors their spots
in the stretch of a matching mirrors
to limitlessness
because they learn to fill the blank of infinity
in tiniest things,
in zero,
in “now”
in ephemerals,
in
existence.
