Our Daemons: A Saturday Poem

Our Daemons
(dedicated to Philip Pullman)

When we fought, they cringed.
We didn’t always notice, we were busy,
otherwise engaged.
Caught in the jaws of our arguments.

But in the corners, and opposite, shivering,
quivering, pupils darting, our essences,
looking this way and that, the best
things about our Eachness, our Dust --

Oh, how I was adept at conjuring
greater sins than the current. And you.
How you glared, causing me to wonder
at the origin of the moisture in your eyes.

-- committed murder or love.

c. Ciprianowords Inc. 2009