Arm’s Length
by Marina Dolinar
Outstretched, extended breath by breath,
eyes closed— breathe out
through the terrible mechanism of the body.
Exhale hot, shallow, instinctive processes
over the deep well of the cupid’s bow.
Always at arm’s length, always away
through the meditation of disappointed paralysis, paresis,
abandoned stupor of being.
Jungle fever, doubly eager to run away,
not close enough to be held up or held down or held in arms.
Always at arm’s length, always never too far away.