someday we can visit
the cave on Muna Island
to see the ancient rock art

the coffee cup
the pencil
a lock of hair

these things pass through your hand
and terrify me
with their solidity

your grasp of the vast and empty
and i by my vanity
struck silent

my brown egg cracked
by press of feather
into the dawn

or

my blue marble warming
into the seventy-thousand-year-old pocket
of your stencilled intention