Love is that eventual thingthat’s oft defined by numbers —
I travel, oftenwith the hope that the white lines would one day realignand finally point the way home.
A comet is a light-captured being:warmed by the eye of the Sun,yet fraught by the fickle solar winds.
And so, I said, “this was an unexpected loss” down a phone, to a friend already gone.
Let me speak,my silent-gone child;to raise the flame and illuminateour black pools and portents.I will mark out time’s passage with…
I tried to speak and to sharebut my head had drifted;weighed beneath the surface.
There was whiteness in his heart.Looking down, we felt
its nothingness, like a sun scorched silenceso hot and bright, our arohaached within its light.
Inner man lyingon your dust-flaked futon -you dreamof lingual expressionsin earth and sparkling water;A dream of a…