In exchange for love, I offer this lint pellet from my pocket. As a side-effect of capitalism, a poem cannot transfer or receive subjectivity. I need a body of water in my blind spot. As does the mirror, the pre-morning light carries something over. Stumbling around a place inaccessible by road,             a turquoise bearded lake. Your pocket does not contain a moment, or a person, or an absence. We meet near the shore, unable to talk about microbiology. You reveal the ruins of a burned-out house when you fail to meet my eyes. I would give you something tangible,  but we both look at the water.