it’s dusk as I
enter the grocery

a jug of distilled
water in my cart

in the cereal aisle
Octavio Paz is

constructing a
boat-shaped

sculpture with cereal                                        
boxes and asks

can we ever
escape this brutal

dream? the air
smells of tequila

and musty pages
of an old book

I say I’m just here
for oat milk and

corn flakes—as my
cart drifts briefly

away from me and
he rushes toward me

kisses my forehead
and leaves the store

tears streaming down
his weary face

A warm wind touched my face.
I walked out into the open space,
I saw a blurry, fading horizon.
Somewhere, you are,
I am here, after a sleepless night,
Writing another reflection,
Tired like an empty battery.

I do not like the masks that shout.
The fight over who is right.
I do not want an analysis.
I touch the bark of the tree,
I hug the birch with my arms.
I see its white pages,
Written with irregular lines,
Torn, fluttering in the wind,
Which I cannot read.

Her eyes look straight into me,
They understand –
How well they understand me.
The rustle of leaves lessens the tension.
Autumn will come soon,
The summer wind whispers to me:
This country, this language,
These people, these doubts.

This is not blind luck,
This is your blessing,
Purple, rainy months, a fleshy heart,
Falling hair, joy when relief comes,
Crying into a pillow –
So as not to disturb another’s dreaming
About the so-called reality.

Bare feet touch the ground.
I tread carefully on the edge of worlds,
To be both here and there
With my integrity.
I am everything and nothing.
I am gestures, epilepsy,
The belief that I see human thoughts,
Inconsistent with what they say.

Blue, sun, and somewhere you.
How good that you stayed.
When everyone was saying:
She is different,
She talks to ghosts.
You stayed, showing me
Your true face.

I don’t think I ever said
How much you meant to me.
My words were quiet, my actions small,
But my heart knew it all along.

Now that you’re gone, I hold on tight—
To the memories, the laughter, the light.
I wish I’d said it more back then,
My love for you, my dearest friend.

So you know how sometimes when you start to give up on humanity
someone wonderful happens?
Like when you just walking somewhere and a stranger says that they like your outfit
Or someone that you've never before smiles and waves
And you think that maybe
People aren't so bad?

My idea of a successful life
Is to be that person
As many times as I can

Today I got a hug, out of the blue                                                             ­     
                                                           ­                                                               
and it even came with an "I love you''                                                            ­    
                                                            ­                                                        
Such a simple kind gesture                                                          ­                                                  
              ­                                                                 ­                               
  It brought me such pleasure                                                         ­                     
                                                                ­                                                          
It picked me up when I felt down                                                             ­                       
                                         ­                                                                 ­      
  turned my day totally around                                                           ­                 
                                                                ­                                                  
  Just when I thought no one cared                                                            ­            
                                                                ­                                        
someone loved me, someone shared

i let it all get the best
of me
again

i don’t know why

This is after the
grandly mundane
drama, after the
endless timeline,
after the tallying,
after the lure of
the handcrafted,
kettle-cooked salty
potato chip, after
the endless conquering
of it and them, this
is after the hypnotic
spell of perfumed
images, after
being a verb disguised
as a noun, after
pretending to be
a palpable thing,
this is after  
being something, and
this is after
being nothing.