+ Kadir

I stand in the distance

little I, little man in hers

and she

leaves off her segmentation

into lines and still pictures

the stutter

that breaks apart sounds

and in the revealing reveals

the geode

of clicks and whistles that smooth themselves

into the lattice-work

of windows

and she bursts apart, her dress like rags

hair split along hairlines

into birds

catching what may be the breeze

of a new order, a humanity

beyond human

where all narratives are shamed

before narration

where her hands

are strung in the loom

out of the fog, the weaving

of a morning-texture

the last emergence from night

the scape of sound escaping

atmosphere

the Final Mission:

to die in space the way that space has died

in us

Kadir strokes her temples

plants kisses on her cheeks

and smiles

his old, electric, piano-key smile

and cradles her head

in the eye in the I in the aye

of the dawn breaking dawns

against the changeless sky

never again to be broken