I wake up to the sound of your 6.45 alarm,
only to realise it’s mid afternoon where you are
and I was nowhere near your phone, your sheets, or you.
I get home at 3 or maybe 4 in the afternoon,
waiting for you to come in shortly after me
but you’re already sleeping if all is right.
I wait for that short crack of time, between 11 and 7,
as we both move around the bed – shared space even
in this frustrating distance – one in, one out
like an exclusive club of which neither of us is
really a member, we just sneaked our way in and
will be discovered soon. We better enjoy it while it lasts.
Exchange hellos, trade good wishes for the day
for the night and wait for another revolution
before we meet again.
cities were never really my thing
but there is something here that
calls – maybe not to me but
maybe not to all of me maybe not
as loudly as it thinks but I
do hear my name ringing
in the jingle of traffic lights
in the chirping of train platforms
and it draws me closer, line after
line to a feeling no longer
just a sketch not just a draft
and no matter how much I laugh it away
it’s there it calls it carries me
for a while – just a little longer as
the light dims it carries more
than just my name, and eyelids
and limbs feel heavier and slower
than they have in a long time and
I let the city carry
the soft ringing of my name
slowly fading into town
fading from shi to cho
from here to home and I’m
back I’m back I’m back
too many roads to cross too many bridges too many inches becoming centimetres slowly crawling timezone over timezone through mountains and planes into plain sight. i see you and i do not want and i see you and i do and all the helplessness rises up again and again and again. teach me the sounds of moving and splashing and dokidoki and jumping and glitter and mochimochi and squelching after a long day of rain and the sound that minds make when the spark is shared when the shock is spared when we pair words when we fare well in the worlds apart we inhabit. at least it was here, right? at least we did not count the reasons we should stay they remain they maintain they are still also here still reasons still valid they still count. i do not want to feel how much it hurts or how much joy it brings but i do, i let it swell and inflate and modulate my lungs and stomach. i choose books and screens and pages that tell me what i’ve left where i’ve been when i’ve said which instincts we’ve followed and what lines we’ve crossed and what we leave behind. so we leave traces we leave marks we leave signs. and we fall. and we leave. believe when i say that books were made for this that books were made out of this that oceans were made out of rivers for stars and bears and nights to shine that moon and sun are one and we count to five and sleep, at last.
before we got lost
our words carved the paths we took.
just read back, and smile
from there to here
and bridging gaps
on darkened rooms
and putting up mirrors
that either reflect
or generate light.
Looking at tapestries
but from the back,
or being unfaithful.
into other containers
and even squeezing jellyfish.
We’ve had enough.
We’d rather be lifted
on broad dark wings.
On broad dark wings
over fields and crops.
Sowing and spreading
only to please
only to please you,
dear reader, and bring
other words to your eyes.