Tonight I turn sudden from sunset
for one trickster's glimpse: You,
your laughing breath.
Tonight I sing Meera's strength
out of tune, hesitant
with too much knowing, love
Tomorrow I'll speak tuneless
in accents that laugh
(You know I've stolen butter,
fresh-churned, to taste
cream on your lips)
Tomorrow (with questions always questions
wheezed through breathless fingers) I'll know
I'm no Meera; never find
her sure voice. Tonight, love,
I only know you.
(my fickle tongue
remembers only whey)
Tonight I dance peacock feathers
to flute song dark
as twilight skin. Tomorrow
I'll know the lie: recordings, steps,
sounds I learned by rote. The empty sky.