A Poet Takes His Girl Dancing
The fastest substance in the universe
is light, at times less stuff than circumstance
—although it is the stuff my other hands
are made of, when they aren’t made of glass.
Your dress so cool and silky to the touch
as I waltzed you through the plate glass window,
more light than substance. Bloody hands and elbows,
but we didn’t care so much, not being much
but carbon, gas, a circumstantial spark.
By night, plate glass is blacker than your dress,
but not by much. I always have loved glass,
loved you, transparent coolness in the dark—
the fastest light, cool, black in our hands, sublime,
as we broke through together, that last time.
by Katherine Williams