I didn’t know what to unbutton next.
Laurie Blauner

Searching for me inside your tubes you discovered
ankle bones, soup knots, teeth raising themselves like children.
With so much to learn all I could do
was to dry my black shirt on a fence in the chrysanthemum light
of wind.  We had mechanical differences:  I was
muscled; you were a mirror within a mirror.  You
could return to what you were before.  Yet you remembered.
I knew the interior of bent grass was composed
of water, blind sky, silent hills, my breath.
I held a fistful of your wires, waiting for a heartbeat.
I calculated your demise as you zipped through my death.
You were dark, tangled, and full of mathematical difficulties.
The opposite of fur was contained in your squareness.
I turned a dial, shrugged on a switch, touched your
electronic glow.  Simple in your fondnesses,
reversible as a star, you were ready to sacrifice the
political men.  You claimed you wanted to kiss someone.