He can name the date and place of the spell; which of us won
was nowhere on his mind, only that he fell. Which of us won?
Your work is distinctive, hungry and lean, it lopes unhinged
with a spring of folly, with a sheen of hell. Which of us won?
My work is subtle, scientific; I remember weaving over a mile
of acetate, each song seeping under his shell. Which of us won?
I confess they impressed me, your wild bindings (pine needles
in his knees), the acts only you could compel. Which of us won?
I brought him painted deserts, enchanted canyons, the warmth
of strangers no midwestern winter could dispel. Which of us won?
Care was a potion neither of us had mastered but I managed
a tincture that tempered your infernal swell. Which of us won?
Now, when we sometimes wonder that his touch upon a string
is enough to stir us, can anyone even tell which of us won?
Sister, if we consider the possibility that there was from the start
a third force at work, do we not know full well which of us won?