Nothing Like the Wind
Tonight, the moon is everything
like the moon,
and the trees are just shadows
on the hill, and we are nothing
like the wind.
We are only
the fragile symmetry of two bodies
broken on the same clean sheet;
collarbones fraying the knots
in shoulders, fingertips reaching
for a blessing in the hipbone’s narrow deep,
ankles over ankles
in the same white throw.
And even though our lips fit,
your freckles are the stars in summer,
and mine are winter
in another hemisphere,
and our hearts will not align
before the sun
breaks the ice beneath my window.
N.W. Hicks received his MA from Manhattanville College. He believes in water but works with dirt. He dreams of becoming a river’s meander.