Checkmate 4.21

Your finger taps the bishop
rests a moment, deliberating,
before sliding the queen

your blue eyes
the crinkle at each corner
deepening as you laugh

I test moves
gently touching pieces
looking at other paths

and I return to this
lock eyes with you

how we communicate

This must be how it feels
to the tree alone
in the forest,
only the breeze to stroke
her leafy green hair,

to have limbs
rattle and shake,
as she bends or breaks
in the midst of the storm,
broken bits piled in heaps
or scattered
across the lawn,

to fall
and have no one
acknowledge the sound.