The Leiry Loop

Take this, Valentine!

Tomorrow

two suns will rise

face to face

and

I will be able to walk

over your shadow,

and you on

mine,

with our fingers, which often

pointed to nowhere,

clamped like a

piece of a shattered

chain from a

dungeon prisoner—

You will put

your scarf over my

eyes as a blindfold, and

lead me through

the steepest curve of the

hill—

But we will not reach the top,

not before the

suns go down

in a hush

and a ruffle, in a crackle

and a tear—

And before you

know it, you will be

walking, dragging

a half-chain

without no-one stepping

over

your shadow and mine's

with the scarf

tucked on your waist

like the tail of 

a predator twice

removed—

as the fourteen moons

emerge in

the mirrors of horizon.