Interconnectedness
arrives
as a terrible greatness
yet departs the same way.

Some things are
never meant to last,
so i'm holding on
to the memos we had.

Staying is a form of haunting.

I don't know
whether it's the mind or the heart
that refused to let go,
incessant, untouched.

My trail steered towards
their station,
a cerulean sky,
an ekphrastic response

where the jigsaw-interlock
of sand grains mocked
the subtle imperfections
inherent in any life.

So you joined the dance anyway.

A token of loss.

The fact that a trip can't last makes the illusion cruel.
And yet, you take it.
Who wouldn't choose that over this?
And yet, the thinking itself reached an end, dwindled.
You can't return
without leaving part of yourself in the site dwelled.

You find yourself at the edge of oblivion.
The tacit rapture. Tzion. Nirvana.
The heaven that makes you up.
The souvenir photo shows you
as you've never been yourself there.

You weren't even here.

We’re told that we would
be able to connect with myriads of people
in the course of life, until we find out
that few true connection comes.
It’s so meaningful to connect
with someone who interprets you so accurately.

I have so much of you in my heart, quoted from John Keats.
I see you in the back of my head.

Thank you for your presence at the mortifying ordeal
of being known
so that I may partake in the euphoric experience
of knowing you.
Grown up, I realize that
there really isn’t anybody to whom i can tell everything
and there never will be,
and there are certain things not supposed to be told,
and that’s just how it is.

If we vibe, we vibe.

I evoked you. left. And just so.
Few tears shed on the way there
and back.

The towering walls, ashen,
ditto the ceiling
but darker.

it allows everything to fall through
I'm being told
to close my eyes,
shut my mouth—
the mouth in my head;
the head my mouth will soon be missing.

I took the landscape with me.
I stood looking backwards.
Snapshots came back blurred.
Unnerved by a palace
where inside is outside.

with and without.

I didn't belong, not then, not there.
but i feel my way
backward

It codes for a day
where you sit next to someone
and confide your history.

I have been making sense of
all the senseless endings
all along.

An object held by a gaze, radiating.
You would say passion but a demon
has sewn your lips shut.

It looks up as if to ask: Tell me
How often do you feel the way you feel?
By you he meant me.

As they were documenting
the height they are about to fall from,
I dropped my camera.
Some secrets are better left buried.

The sea
was once everything i needed.
The ornamental, the accidental.
The absolute is.

Night rolls in to stand watch
a film in which i play everyone,
a scene that refuses to end.
end.

Staring at the monster
who looks enough like me
to be me.
me.