Against Vanishing
       

Afraid she is about to vanish
I summon her
rib by rib, scapula, tibia,
knowing how perfect she is
inside where she cannot see.

Descend, I say,
into the heart's four chambers
or the vestibule of your inner ear—
through its intricate labyrinth, hear
how you hear so clearly,

word for word, pizzicato and bow.
Clavicle, sacral, I whisper,
notes I want her to savor,
but she turns and speeds away
like someone fleeing fire

though I appeal to the rivers
that course through her blood, her brain,
even her honeycombed bones.
Remember your earth, your mineral self
I call—

you're not naught-nil-none,
though small now as an ovum, pin-little
through the telescope I've become.
Dimming, then brightening, you are
the variable star I set my sights on.

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Copyright © 2021 Allison Funk All rights reserved
from The Visible Woman
Parlor Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission