My fingers brush along the ridge

Of soft rib, and I am fixed

Upon your skin, catching in

Memory, in fantasy

Of past and future lovers

You reach to sweep my hair away

Palm resting on the cheek

With universal weight

I close my eyes and feel

Any man's hand and understand

We bind our ties, weave in

Families and furniture

Comfortable in conversation

Common in anatomy, simple

In our self-deception

Your eyes always shine

Brighter than the last, until

They wash out, fade out

Over-exposed and undermined

By the glare of illusion

Then we trade and reassign

Quicker temper, quicker wit

Wider smile, wider hips

Interchangeable, relative

As we become generic

And this hand pressed

Against my cheek grows cold

Attachment fading in the vein

But I smile and look away

Not yet, not today

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We are complicated

With our dreams

And our addictions

Numb to dead ideals

Nursing our betrayals

We stagnate

Divide and fracture

Doubt and hesitate

Extracting meaning

From minutia

We are intense

With composition

Catching glances

Catching breath

We are angry

Then we are lucid

In love

We burn and break

Visceral and haunting

Volatile and hungry

We bleed the same

Brilliant melodies

We are not safe

We are not settled

Never quenched

We starve behind

Our smiles

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"We're wandering around as strangers looking for things to recognize, and whenever you see something which you know is good, true, and beautiful, that's an act of recognition." -Hugh Nibley

we get a feel of it

rubbing off on our fingers

from a worn page.

that line...something about it

pricks our bellies

like a vague craving--

sweet or, somehow,

indiscernably wonderful.

we recognize

a truth we had forgotten

we were looking for.

wandering here

we are as strangers

because we have forgotten

our own faces. we are

grasping at the veil,

trying to make

something of the symbols,

fumbling with faded

maps and checklists,

filling our cavernous pockets

with principles like

coins and treasured crumbs

of recognition.

until the soft tones

we've overheard in passing

move closer to our ears,

and the room

grows wide with faces

like stars

and voices like suns

burning into our beings

the final enrapturing

recognition

of the Voice that calls

our name.

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