In solidarity we stepped through
the icy wall between fear and kissing.

We killed insignificant flies buzzing
around the light fixtures
and curled our fingers subtly
into twining curls and collar bones.

Lightning glanced off the bones of our
prettiest dresses, lingered in hems
and mottled sea stains.

Nothing trapped us, we coagulated,
we hurt and we burned and
in a moment there were guitar strings breaking
and hearts twanging happily
against the wood and polyester
of our suddenly forgotten names.

Fever spread like Eva Cassidy’s voice,
haunting, inducing tears, curing cancer and
smoking out burglars.

Nothing was left in our eyes,
Nothing was left in our ears,
in the laugh-lines pooled with moonlight
and the tiny bones tapping out
rhythms in our brains.

We were tired, blue in the face with
lack of oxygen and the thrilling breaking of curfews.

Daylight grew, swelled with sunshine and empathy,
and the soft breaking of dandelion stems.

Silent laughter nagged like a gypsy
at the curve of twilight
and half past the witching hour.

Nothing held our attention,
coals burrowed furiously in our clothes
causing light to flare
in unexpected places
and the little seen fireflies
to take offense and gasp away.