“a whole scene through the keyhole of language”
–Roland Barthes
Stray bits of light glowed along the edges:
What he wanted her to say in contrast
To what she said. We only see what’s there,
What we understand. Through the dark, fireflies
Shout out for love in sharp intermittent
Bursts. How do we ever find each other?
He understood little of what she said.
His desire, her intent, shrank the language
‘til fine grains of difference determined
If either could move without consequence.
With one key to the code, a tumbler fell,
A latch opened, yet, the door remained closed.
Enough had been said; they each bent to read
a denouement from their side of the door.
(June 23, 2017)
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