handfuls of air

Mother, lover, daughter, witch:

the warmth of womb, the pillow

one's head longs for, looks for

in another. Could we intertwine,

merging to a gap that cannot close,

like the space between two atoms,

and could it last forever?

Could I fall into that gap,

a piece of her in me in her,

pieces bright, infused with power,

not my own, the other chromosome.

It grows, it leaps like flames,

unyielding fire. And in the end,

mortal men all turned to stone.