Ours is a fractured romance. We appear to each other in so many disguises. You stumble on the beach and presto, we’re two French soldiers in a trench touching fingers in a rain of mud and blood. We might be making love when in the pale light of dusk, your ecstasy becomes a killer’s mask. I wrestle back my scream. When the weight of your need collapses me, you are the infant, chewing on the sinews of my heart. Like shadows, they’re an overlay upon the day we’re living, a transfiguration.
No one knows how many times we’re born or why, life after life, this joy and devastation.