Nothing By Bear Step

Nothing

Nothing touches your skin of sweat

(meltdown of oceanic kisses)

when the purple light

whispers to the moon

in silent, moonlit clarity.

Nothing touches the bronze of your neck

even the storm clouds kneel down

and kiss the halos

circling your ten toes

of red rosaries.

But the sun still glares at your skin,

always looking but never touching.

You have nothing

and everything surrounds you.

Voices in the mountains,

rice in the valleys.