Abraham

Outside,

he caught me

with

dark eyes

that ate at

my gaze;

the life

between us

got

sucked into

the air,

dissipated

like flower pollen.

“What are you drawing?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you tracing the veins on your arm?”

 “Yes.”

We have met before,

you & I—

I know not where.

If I believed

in reincarnation,

I would say:

in another life

we whispered

quiet secrets

in dim-lit corners.

Or maybe

in dream-world

you and I prayed

for sustenance

and drowned

ourselves

in golden daisies.

Perhaps you are

an angel—

but isn’t

that too

pleasant

of a thought.

I only know:

when we

spoke,

the universe became

smaller;

my skin

tingled

with

profound anticipation

of something

yet

unrecognized.

“I’m Abraham.”

And I already knew,

for the taste

in my mouth

was rich with

deep familiarity—

yet

sweet newness

still.

His stare haunted

my steps

hours later--

if there is

something

spiritual still

left in the

world,

it was between

us that

spring day.