Moment or minute

'How can any particular compare,'

said a saint who had loved you

and moved on,

'to the great Everything? I close my eyes and I feel it.'

Once, at our old apartment, 

you hit me in the balls without explanation. 

We both cried privately, absurdly. 

Years later I've found you where you're living in Lancaster.

We take places on your bare,

altar-like mattress. I kneel over you, exalting

in the inevitable

Moon-blue glow from tiny nightlight, window's

shape sliding over your belly as car

passes, your burning

skin. Divisions

in the sum of all things.