How Strange

That this thick weave
Of thoughts and events
Of types and boundaries
In his fires and works
And my vacuum of cold fantasy
Should lead to such a simple humanity
As the scars on my thighs
And the blood in my throat

That so many words
When passed through the seconds
And firsts i feel slipping away
Could mean so little
When i know how they came
And why

That he could hold me forever
And i would still shiver in the wind