Poem by J.D. McClatchy

Mercury Dressing

To steal a glance and, anxious, see
Him slipping into transparency--
The feathered helmet already in place,
Its shadow fallen across his face
(His hooded sex his counterpart)--
Unsteadies the routines of his heart.
If I reach out and touch his wing,
What harm, what help might he then bring?

But suddenly, he disappears,
As so much else had down the years...
Until I feel him deep inside
The emptiness preoccupied.
His nerve electrifies the air.
His message is his being there.

The New Yorker, April 23, 2007