On Isolation

(with Casati by Man Ray)

Now is the time when light 
slows its breathing. 
When the wind braids 
the trees into chords 
of dissonant longing 
like fragments. Like echoes. 
The tempo of things 
slows imperceptibly. 

The eyes of loneliness 
are Casati's, smoky 
at the edges. I watch 
the sun pause 
above its carapace, turn 
its head as if waiting 
for a voice. 

A pearl of laughter, 
glassy-smooth, shatters 
from within the park. 
I fold back into myself, 
a glove too precious for use. 

When the mask is worn 
too long, 
poison blossoms 
like a porcelain heartache.