permeation

she writes of these illusory garages,
and sometimes i wonder, too, which
of all these groaning structures
we shove our way through
are closer to the insubstantial

& which instead are built
of pieces solid and knuckle-bruising and real.

like the edges of our blurry cells
bleeding blindly into one another, our bodily
chemistries differing so wildly that
how could we ever have thought
our rhythms would align?

you, & me, & all our anger and adoration
whittled down to the sound of eyelids softly descending.