Pivotal
The first one shocks them both
as if a lightning stroke
somewhere down the line
has galvanised his strings,
he can't help the leaping fist
the thud, knees slow buckling
tooth sliding down her chin
onto the floor.
The second poised, provisional,
the two of them alone
in a room without a door,
he torn between his impulses
to cradle her bruised face
or to purple lips
he can no longer read.
Which route he won't decide
until he's looked into her eyes,
discovered if the pain he sees
- fear, contempt
or intolerably, love -
makes his knuckles tighten,
start to itch.
Beyond the second, it is simple.
