Breathe me in this disheveled night; I go unnoticed.

The air's turned strange and solid, but only I will notice.

If I allow beams of light to pass through the pinholes of my torso

and if light strikes the wall on the other side, would you notice?

Tonight you're three parts God and one part sandalwood dust.

I keep catching your scent by the window, I always notice.

My words pile up like prophets on the point of my tongue.

What passes for transparency are those things you don't notice.

I steal robin's eggs and sketch powder-down feathers for you;

my pocket heats a pulsing nest; the creatures never even notice.

If you could let me bangle my arms around you, rain would fall.

It would speck my lips, my open fingers: then you'd notice.

Instead my eye remains locked in the platinum part of the flower;

the highest branches are the only living things to notice.