The french doors swing open with a baby gust of wind:
me on one side, you on the other
Our eyes meet–soft at first, then hard, narrowing to a thin line of sight

I focus all my desire with magnetic force;
I am the sun, you the earth

But, you maintain the same fierce force on your end
and so we stand,
the two of us like cowboys with their guns drawn in a western

Who will take that first step
who will fire that first bullet
who will have the patience to withstand the other

A tumbleweed rolls behind you and
I shift my gaze for a millisecond
in that tiny instant, you’re gone
and I am here on the inside of these french doors
shaky and fragile from all that energy spent.


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