Transfigured

What are you hiding?
Some bright phase

beyond saturation,
perhaps? You,

a haze
we can’t follow.

Is it inevitable that we fall
all over ourselves

slick as that apple
we can’t grasp?

Name it a false reign,
if you will,

one that leaves us
hotter than before it came.

No matter
is not the matter,

rather that your condensing
feels condescending

at times. It’s plain
confusing, really, you

crystallizing on angels’ wings
in such a blinding light.

Peter sought to shelter in place
as if he could

figure out your figure,
but there is no point

of fullness reached
by going further.

You said, Seek
and you shall find

but we don’t
even have to beg

to differ
because our vapors vary

in density—you
hovering over, us

dropping
every word like water

through our fingers.
In other words,

save your breath—
unless—hold it!

What’s your touch
on my shoulder

revealing?

Published by asaur