Conjunction

I left the door open a crack
to let a blade of the light run across the dark.
But in that space lived a cutting draft
where six feet felt so far.

Green eyes, you disappear
behind panes of streaky glass.
In your armor, you won’t hear
the broken echoes of our past.

This is our pattern—you and I,
We draw burnt lines that smudge.
Be the Jupiter to my Saturn,
planets that pass, but never touch.

If your mild palm pressed on the gate
to explode the sword of light,
you know I could not hesitate.
I’d return to you like stars to night.