trace out a road between us
with the colours of fall
and the leaves underfoot,
parting footsteps late
in the afternoon.
trace out midnight skies
and the blue black points
of time rushing in from
a million miles away
past your eyes in into sleep.
trace out stories in glances
and losing and finding and
remembering strangers
as they slip out of one skin
and into another. call it
what you will, or don’t.
you are now red and black
stretched across fingertips
hushing lips from saying
words that will lose color
on paper or in sound.
the words are quiet now,
but can you trace out
the midnight tune beneath
its pressed folds?
can you trace me another smile?
trace
