Walking with Jun
Are we the same or different?
When you snap your fingers, space obeys
A pet, a child, a lover.
Before the sun rose over the new year
Youd thumb-printed my hairline.
Later: one fingertip, curling.
Have we named that slope between the forehead and nose,
the valley between eyes?
A holy place. Some need no ordination.
Frequency, vibration, resonance, noise
No, not noise.
Talk, talk talk
Dont let me forget the sound.
You clapped your hands over snow and said, Listen.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 39 | Winter 2013