Riddle


1. “Why are you so all or nothing?”
Your question is a tightrope
hung over me for months, asking
me to walk between Toronto’s skyscrapers
without a safety net.

Do you know, it felt like a promise.
Do you know, I no longer know what a promise is,
or what truth is, or what faith is.

2, “How does it feel – for you- what does it?
– tell me- how would you
– what is it like for you?”
Do you remember when my words
were a single curious
giggle, broken into words,
because  your eyes knew how to
kiss pauses even into my
riddling questions.

So you see, there were moments I was so sure –
and nothing frightens me more
than finding another you.

3.  “Like this,”
you answer, some days even now
in my memory.  “Like this,” you said, your velvet voice
wrapping around my fingers, tasting them
with your clever answer.

And after, I shed myself in the
corner by your books, left my lips in a
silent kiss against the bonzai, where I imagined
tasting your green thumb one
last time, left my face in your hands
when you washed it, along with my tears

You are a wound walking, talking
outside my body, you are a bruise
against my heart, moving easily like a
May breeze through the open
South-facing window
over all the body parts in your room.

4.  “An act is holy or it is not. What do you call
the vacuum of restless space and spirits
between? What do you call this now?
What do you call that now?”

Why is this a riddle for you?
Why can you not name the thing – My God
If you cannot name the thing,
then let me tell you:

it was not a thing.

It was not a thing at all – ,

 

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