Noble Gas

I could balance nickels
on the bridge of your book.
Perpendicularity barely bending,
like your shoulder blades—
fixed and deliberate,
a pale, unwavering keystone,
perching the curve of McClung Hill.

People all around, buzzing, buzzing,
roaming your outskirts,
feeling for your particles.
You pay them no attention
and have no need for theirs.
Unwilling to interact,
you are the noblest of gasses,

filling the space around you,
placing pressure on every part of me.