A finger realigns the threads /// a finger cuts /// a finger inverts /// a finger presses /// a finger slips /// a finger goes and comes back /// a finger inverts the threads /// a finger fits /// a finger gives you a drink /// a finger pulls fabric over the baby’s cheek /// a finger smiles /// a finger tastes /// a finger measures /// a finger dips into mercury /// a finger spools threads /// a finger follows you /// a finger measures you and in measuring you, it measures the distance /// a finger scrutinizes you /// a finger asks you the question again /// a finger spins the threads /// a finger shakes /// a finger planes /// a finger wipes the corner of the eye /// a finger extends the invitation  ///  a finger passes through you.

My hands sway, they endlessly repeat the same gestures,
they’re inscribed in me.
Gesture is multifold.
Within gestures, there’s a pileup of gestures, which I
repeat. I don’t remember learning them, they entered
me, by magic or necessity.


There was no forced entry between us, no rape.

 

The gestures I repeat are like silence, they don’t bother
me, they have their own life, I have mine which observes
the swamp, the dawdling child in the swamp collecting
what he shouldn’t collect on this surface loaded with
what shouldn’t be there.
The wandering child collects.




Gesture is multifold
it’s silent inside me
and that’s how I see
That’s how I see you
multifold.
That’s how I touch you.


The motionless surface
vibrating, vibrating
making a sail within
breathes within.