![]() I kept paddling nowhere fast, but you couldn’t see me. A delivery truck kept turning the same corner. There were names called out, even mine was not among them. We heard basketball, pigeon, boy after school. ![]() The last time, above a playground on 6th Avenue, I tasted your fear. Remember Rio de Janeiro, the size of God’s hand, sardines fleshed-open at the market, the way I entered and moved inside? Looking down, is this the kind of density you can live with? What is the slightness of our bodies to stay, to be good at loving a second time? My mouth pretends it is an oar when it lives inside your mouth, but you are far away. We should insist that letting go is one form of hope. We should insist on willing things: archipelagos, the secret your lip feels, the harbor. A cable pulls my body to the top of a mountain and the view is broken: I see you everywhere. How dumb belief is, silly boat with its red flag. I remember Grandma blessed me before leaving as if something might make me suffer in the future. What can I say about so many windows? On the Greyhound, a woman is reading The Case for Christ. ![]() ![]() ![]() When I reach for you, there is radiance in the dark. In this fog, it’s true, we are made-up of less than bone. ![]()
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