Is It Live or Is It a Story?

My love,

my love,

you sing the worlds to me

and I am born anew

but even so

I watch falling stones

explode within the atmosphere

and hear you laugh

as though you’d caught them

in the nick of time

‘by the skin of your teeth,’

you chuckle, stretching for

the dance.

‘knocked it out of the park,
didn’t I, Beloved?’

you ask,

plainly wanting to be praised

Oh my clever,

silly boy.

As with the Atraxi,

as with every fictional example

and every unsung real one

Nobody remembers your many little interventions

no one but me

and because you inspired

all the fictions round about

no one would ever

believe me

my brave and bold
and humble Love.

You never give your own name

you change your shape

to keep your secrets

to yourself

and yet you fish

for compliments. . .

“Only from you,

my Life.”