66 Have you ever seen a grafted tree? They’re rare. I once saw one that bore apples and pears. It was truly weird and strangely beautiful, Twice-fruited. Copious, plentiful, Glorious. Could that be us? Is this The image I should use? Not ancient Vice, unnatural growth, nature underneath The yoke, but free to flower twice, he/she? Joined at the stock; two bodies, and two sets Of thoughts? Two lives and yet one energy? So then, where do I make the cut? You ready? Breathe, my love, and close your eyes. I throw away The grafting knife. The job is done. We are Already one, life slipped into life. 72 We’re standing at the bar and I’m buying You a drink; you are rubbing my back. Anyone standing behind us will think You are my man, so sure your hand In its quiet proprietary right. Little do they know that you, Mr Uptight Will stroke my spine but rarely meet my eye. That you reach out without asking why, Seeking comfort, seeking to comfort me. Your hand performs its own soliloquy Divorced from conscious thought. You are only Mine metonymically. Your hip, my thigh; Your hand, my side; our clavicles have met And kissed and understood. Our heads, not yet. _____ Sarah Tolmie is associate professor of English at the University of Waterloo. Her books include the novel The Stone Boatman and the short story collection NoFood.