She covered her face with her hands as though to stop the tears that flowed, as though to hide her love from the world, as though to keep it from pouring out.

There (she thinks): the equation’s made: a drop of water squeezed from the heart has the same weight as a drop of love.

It’s the physics of desire. It’s the energy of drawing close, it’s the heat of attachment, the matter of bodies and births, the motion of collision and embrace, of merging and deflecting. Watch the ghost-trace particles: bodies find each other and spin away. Yet their energy is conserved: nothing disappears (she thinks): the hum of what is given and received, becomes a song, a sigh, a cry.

Between meeting sighs and parting sighs the line is slight. Both made of love, the drop contained, the drop that’s taken flight.

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