silver

you might let something soaked in silver slip
through your fingers. you might become saturated
in words, comb them through your hair with silver-
coated sentences dripping off your tongue, so sharp
and sweet, delicate, like honey slowly sticking
the threads of you together. you might sleep,
enclosed in the arms of a song, stretched
across the moonlight as it skips
over river rocks, cobblestones. you might dream of ships,
silently gliding across still waters (but they aren't really still,
nor silent, though you'll dream them that way somehow,
though the sirens warned you not to trust their hushing silences,
smiles). you might recreate yourself as sunlight,
pour over my closed eyelids, dance across my sternum
and toes and fingers and belly. or you might simply slip
away like something silver, sharp and saturated
in the hushing sound of wind.