— shall become as —

           you put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from
  my hand. the night
before the full moon
 
  the moon seems
full. what is missing
is a dark hungry
  sickle, the sliver
of shadow eating
 
  us up inside. after
the mountains breathe
their mint-and-sorrow
  green against the long
summer sky, they burst
 
  into hot october
laughter, lighting
the horizon with citrus,
  rust, and blood. you
put this knife in my
 
  hand. we pull. we
meet as oceans come
together, heaving
  against and clinging
across our salt watery
 
  boundary. we approach
endlessly like two rails
of one track, tied
  in a parallel that
promises our eyes to
 
  merge, someplace far
off in the distance. you
put this feather in my
  palm. my fingers
close around flight.