Beads
The night I pulled a cap
Of tiny crystals like obsidian
To swing across my cheeks
Catch the low gold light
Of the little bar below ground
Full of flushed people
Not as hungry
Where you grazed
The glinting strands
Along my forehead
With your fingernail
Like harp strings
Some sweet chord of return
From the spirit’s outskirts
Your fingers reached my chin
Poised it for the light
The eye of the assessor
So I welcomed you back
Let you smooth
Both the troubled planes
Of the self reunited
Inelegantly and
The pattern of beads
Pressed into my brow