Letter to the Site of Early Trauma

I dreamt of a face
flinting outward, as if from stone.

No, not stone, but a hard
to fathom distance.

If planets collided 
in the instance of that emergence,

we did not hear or see.
We were so taken 

by the urgency
of our coming together, 

then emptying. 
What do you remember

when you go back to any
instance of cleaving?

It's a mystery how nothing
goes away— press hard

on a point and it pulses;
radiates toward everything it birthed.