You found me staring, hair full of sand: I had tried to embrace the water as my blood and was reprimanded by a wave for my daring. Around us the thick grass like palm-sunday fronds and the path of boards lifted from a painting dissolved into steel wool. The rest of the scene has been redacted, smeared from my mind with an inky thumb.
You found me between sleep. I am still waiting to be returned to , or wherever the quarter-light carved your back into soft photograin beneath my childs hands. You said, " ", words warming me with the bloom of a chrysanthemum beneath my chest. Does the crown of petals still ***** like the cigarettes off that balcony, overlooking ?
I burned my body into your imagined contours. The space between ours folded over and again, an origami figure slowly taking on mass and attitude. It sat on my shoulder, Incan headdress grown solid one day, stock right foot the next. It cleaved and cleaved. We joined at or maybe , in the rain. Or was it? My face was wet, and hands or moths fluttered against an aquarium window. If dreaming, I awoke when : the train flattened its memory like a penny. Here it is, squashed between my fingers. The face pushed like putty, smoothed like the faces of and and of course , who remains only as a scratchy, juvenile voice.