fibonacci pg2-michaels

Photo by: Bruce Weber

Like the moon, I want to touch places just by looking. To tell new things at three in the morning, when we’re awake with rain or any sadness, or slendering through reeds of sleep, surfacing to skin… Where love is the clink of buttons as your shirt slides to the floor, the rolling sound of loose change; a book half open, clothes half open. Again we feel how transparent the envelope of the body, pushed through the door of the world. To read what’s inside we hold each other up to the light.
Anne Michaels