Contagium

If I held you here in the atrium
for twenty-thousand years
would you understand me,
word for soot-black word?

Sometimes, lying flat,
I rise out of my skin to float.
An apparition, I can see
my marrow is also yours.

If only lunacy were contagious,
you would see me
residing in your skin, your bones.

Instead, I hold you to me
and bury thoughts
between covers of leather-
shelves and shelves of ugly mirrors.