Michael Sickler


At a party a woman stares

past the edge of a man’s head

ignoring the space between them.

The man gasps. He is sealed

in the room. Her words are ether.

There are those

to whom conversation

does not open like a butterfly

in an envelope;

In these airtight chambers

people give up talking.

Their speech flutters.

Their beauty is pulled off

in full light.