“The relativities of life and death belong to the cosmic dream. Behold your dreamless body.”
–Sant Kirpal Singh
 
In the kitchen Suzanne is
cutting peppers. She fills
her floor-length dress
the way sound
fills a shell. I approach
from the rear,
my lips finding that space:
coffee hair breached
to bare neck.
Her body opens, then mine.
In other rooms people wait
for us. Some of them
know us and some of them
think we are the
stuff of dreams. Suzanne turns
toward me. Her face is like
that moment right before you fall.
Suzanne turns toward me for-
ever. Everything happens
again and again and again, amen.