"one day maybe we will dance again"

striding down the victory line finding only one,
each to each but nothing more.
every time he looks at the sun he
wonders who it is he's fighting for.
that day she traced his face
and he looked away and did not say
"it hurts me when your fingers find the cracks.
my bruises use their inside voices but never turn their backs."
and the reason he closed his eyes
was so he would not have to lie
and assure her that he saw what she had traced —
the angle.
the flaw.
the shape.