Anniversary

by Richard Spilman

Anniversary

Across the chiasma of thought and touch,

nerves write their own language:

an ancient tongue without third person,

I, thou and those beyond the pale.

But when the barter of words ceases,

our love becomes an age-freckled map,

bordered by whimsical monsters,

a star birth, a white driftwood hand

raised above a motionless sea.