Him

after Sappho

The spirit you nervously outline beside
you seems to me like a god, as he faces
you, hears your whispers and laughs in places
that remain hollow for me as I ride

home somehow feeling their echoes jolt the heart
in my ribs. Tonight, as I call out to you,
my voice is empty—it has lost all art
as my tongue cracks and slender flames course through

my pallid skin. My eyes are dead to light.
My ears pound, and sweat pours over me.
I convulse like parch, tossed grass, and feel my might
slip as I blow close to eternity.