the eye

the best indicator is the skin around the eyes.
not the eyes themselves, not the still circle within
a circle, maybe the absence of rolling, like the
horse between the rope and the side of the cliff.
it is the skin that relaxes, the cells within the skin
the cells within.

and the eyes are released like fish from the net
flying through the air quickening to the wet.

this is how i know i can touch you again, bring
my hands to your chest, the rough of your jawline
the exhausted mouth which has permanently worked
it's way inward, a sceloderma and scar, a place which speaks
to all that is hard.

and your hands move quick and irreverent
as if they refuse to remember what i cannot forget.

maggie may ethridge