A Woman Leans In; Dark

I want to whisper
into the space that draws you
to this pause between breathings.
I want to hear
the hollow through my throat
shake your eyes to see
a sign of all this
gravity you resist with
your anatomy locked in leaning.

Does this darkness
lay its hands in you
and pull you in?

Is it that
swelling in your womb?

I want to ask how deep
your shadows reach
and then to kneel to the meeting
of your hands.
I want to see if your eyes
will follow me down
or if I am
as invisible as
all this
evident distance.


by jerry gordon
on a painting by Chika Yoshii

You for Me

Ben is telling
us we
should know
better than what
I'm admitting to be
a part of every
thought-flash. Smash
to the back of my eyes.
The never
ending cinema of being
this haphazard
and herky-jerky box of visions.

I take my hands
from your eyes,
and you are healed
of what?
Your blindness?
Mine?
Dark?

Where are we to be?

You for me
are more than a total I can
echo or imagine.

Thus
I continue
this continuous
thin black line that seems
to make every form
formless--I cup my hands
and let what's left receive
giving, the ghost, the host
of my being
lost--
nowhere is enough.

You,
I can't
escape.

I sit with my back bent,
leaning into you though
every bit of every
thing.


by jerry gordon