Nola Accili




they enter into 

tawny pocket rims

behind stained orange

glass straining to stop light

rays of sun of cosmic aureoles

too bright to bear the breath wanes

he saw for the first time recovering his

pulse shooting synapses of amber frozen

in that moment in that perfect moment realized

not wanting to let go of that silence that moment

that sounded of breath beating over craters of aurora

they belonged he nodded stroked the desktop smooth

in the smoke-scented room the room he sat in burnt with

ocher training over the keypad fingers unclenching letters

imperceptibly nodding watching over the spectacle of boot flesh

made-up irises now blue now hazel now violet now the cross reflecting

golden on pink fabric slightly worn at the shoulder from carrying her satchel