Houdini II

I couldn’t stop looking–tall as the torn headdress
rags of muted maroon so blatantly, long thin
strips to the floor on display, as tall as you. His eyes
a skyscraper above me, his nested hair, round face
and rounder eyes, so brown, half-waning moons
calm like an Himalayan ox–don’t stare–But he’s you,
he’s not you–why isn’t he you? Plagues needing
to be cured… It always happens this way: one minute

happy as a lark, gliding through a museum wondering
about wonders, the next: around the corner some
unexpected ghost is flesh. Then it’s a gut-check throw
back into the past (your grand disappearance), where
it only aches to be. It takes all of my self-control not
to follow him, hold him from behind just to remember

the exact way your ribs feel against my palms, how

easy these bodies break beneath each other.

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