I see it in your eyes
even when they dart from my
face to hide from sight. It’s a bright
quickening that flashes a personal Morse code,
shouting for help and safety and a second chance.
I can see it in your mouth
too, when your lips are still
from the lies about being fine.
It’s in the tightening of the corners,
the stillness of the curvature, the slight
quiver that is barely noticed and unconstrained.
And it’s in your hands,
as they flutter hurriedly through
the air as to wave away the invading
flood. But when they are still, they cannot
be still, buzzing in your lap, shaking slightly.
It is also in your ears,
your nose, your breast, your
thighs, your toenails. I regret to say
I cannot take this monster from your existence.
Even if I had the power, I would not, because without
it, your eyes would not glow. Your mouth would not be still.
Your hands would not rest. This fear you feel now is only a fraction
of what will drive you further into the darkness, only to find you have what you need
to create the light.