Embrace me so we imagine the hint
of our unhurried bones, the idea
of the beautiful flickering
in all the ways we could get hurt--
betrayed by the purity of light,
almost tender, the way a pianist
leans into the blistering keys,
staggering with rain, refusing to focus.
O my opulent marquee, my recipe
for shoes, bees, salt: stewed in a thimble.
Embrace me with candled crosses,
with the serious laughter
of symphonies, with the sadness
of harlequin hats. Embrace me
with the blowsy, minuet branches:
with the crumbling choreographies of chance--
[Sean Thomas Dougherty {1965- }, 'Embraceable You' from All You Ask for is Longing]
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