Kiss. Baptism.

The night fills with charged chatter  
from the bar we exited. I ask if I can kiss her 
and wonder what door this will open. 

Soon, she’ll be gone for two weeks, 
and I’ll ride my bike out to a bench 
close to a canal where the crows eat the fallen

left-over fruit from the orchards.  
They’ve been cleared to build new doors 
over the rotting roots. Each day she’s gone, 

I chain smoke to ease nerves and call her,  
already out of breath. Her voice, an elixir I savor  
like the small and sudden bursts of a breeze

cooling my forehead; baptism is a doorway for faith.  
It’s been hard to believe in love again, 
but faith is at the center of every request. 

She answered by kissing me, unlocking  
all the terror stored in these clouds of flesh. 
But I remembered how easily and quickly 

the mind travels vast distances to find meaning  
in the strange and striking shapes of our lives.  
I felt her sweat on my lips. Baptism.