The Magic Trick

Late afternoon, and one side of the bus sunned
In light. I imagine your words falling dust
Gently on my lashes. They melt into a hum on your
Tongue. You breathe. I breathed in
The sun in your clothes, breathe like deep sleep.

Your voice rumbles through bone. The bus moves and light
Flickers: A child playing with the blinds, or
The ruffle of cards falling between the dealer’s fingers.
My head paperweight: I feel you there. An
Illusion of lightness, gentle reassurance. Ant surveying air, cat’s whisker.

Checking for each other’s presence, eyes
Closed.