The night of my hand folding and unfolding caress
across your back until we sleep, until we deliquesce.Water to water, every gesture lost in the torrent
that claims us, and these words all that’s left
of my bending over you every morning, this
morning, my mouth on your mouth, the unspoken,
the farewell, the truth that nothing of us will be left
to know the other.— Minnie Bruce Pratt, from “Now We Are Rushing,” Magnified