I’m far from you and tired like wine gets tired, and missing the still of your mind at work working out its thought across the room. I’m missing Summer where you are, where early morning smells like the back of your neck, missing our walking, quiet, hands held warm with the pleasure of our blood …
Do you hear wisps of sound? It might be carpenter ants in the beams or maybe we’re just not getting enough sleep, not getting enough air, judging from the yawn-triggered yawns, the nervous assemblies of words, the way we’re folding sentences into a conversation shaped like an origami duck. And while we’re chatting about how …
You said I sounded like an actor in a poorly rehearsed play, so I gave up speaking in favor of the Hindustani drone, of music waving like seaweed, wrote songs about the foothills in flower with tarweed and poppies, about the threadbare hat I filched from a neighbor and the wilted plant on my father’s …
Let’s speak to each other in the language of paper airplanes, bend our edges in to meet and fold the quiet into shapes, mold our wings according to the soft geometry of handmade things. Let’s use our time aloft to catch our breath and clear the air before we yaw, pamper back the creases in …