Cyrus Cassells


Beautiful Signor

Whenever we wake,
still joined, enraptured —
at the window,
each clear night’ s finish
the black pulse of dominoes
dropping to land;

whenever we embrace,
haunted, upwelling,
I know
a reunion is taking place —

Hear me when I say
our love’ s not meant to be
an opiate;
you are the reachable mirror
that dares me to risk
the caravan back
to the apogee, the longed-for
arms of the Beloved —