The weight of light

there is a point at which this morning light 

(here) 

pushes through that gap

(there) 

and becomes weight.

and there is another point at which 

it turns back again

(miraging weight into light waves

transfiguring the winter sky 

from which it came.)  



in the same way: 

the whiteness of that horizontal lick of scar

(between your navel

and the first magnetic strands of hair)

fulcrums the weightlessness of this 

pre-dawn milky grey

onto my body

pressing us flat

hip to hip 

skinmusclebone fusing

fantom limb trickery

wagging weight through each other



until the gravity reverses

(mid-atlantic waves under a sickle moon

up meeting down meeting up)

tongues umbilical

offering

taking

offering

taking

taking.

© K. Bush