Quiver

by Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta

Speed of neither wind nor ripple,

neither hawk nor dove; she darted

quick across the woods through blister’s

roots, and hyacinths, the river’s blue

narcissus—

gleamed like a pair of scissors

clipping silk. And with what haste

did I proceed, imploring limb and bone

to make the light as we sped trackless

through the night, and I flagged behind.

Gave her the lead by small leagues,

and watched her quicken when the miles

between us vanished by degrees.

Now the light within me slows, quivers

somewhere into color. I know her

like a heft in the blood, like an arrow

that arrives with a sudden red notion.

And wherever you go, I am to follow.