or was it not like that, the way she came  together. There are lessons or at least   one letter, left of consonantal  divide where two tongues once straddled  split. If there is a place and time where  we were right you can press your palm to my  stomach, you  can  look  at  me from night cheek; I bend away to shut the window. This is love,   or at least something to fill the space between eyes and words.  What else can we make, besides whispers of tune for tomorrow?