Is all this you?
Mysterious and lucid
present and absent at once
Your eyes are a pitch black night that lights my way
.
.
Is this, all this, you?
Lose one or two of your stars so I can believe
You are a woman of flesh and blood
and not music crushing me like a hazelnut underfoot
Be a little diminished, and break free from your metaphor
so that I can hold every part of you
except the part I have released into air.