Could I rest here for another day?

Could I rest here for another day?
So many leaves, a cryptic face,
And a microstorm by the windowpane.
That memory
Tail-longish and forever slippery: pressed
Tightly between the fingers and throbs and pricks.

I sit like dry air on an empty chair—
I do not think that I will fall.
Heart, eyes, limbs, soul—
Oh how I would yield them all! (Yield them all!)
For a brief hour's rest
Against your shadow.

Dale Chou
2007-11-06