Often times I find myself
wandering in an empty field.
I am alone, and I can feel
the grass caressing my ankles.
It was familiar
the first time I have done this,
since that origami swan took you,
flew you off in a distance where
even eight minutes of light isn’t enough.
Familiar
like lying is always the only fun
I can ever have. Though
the place is dim,
the sky is not an empty
space. Salt sprinkled,
I see the stars sparkle,
the way your eyes do.
I trace your name, connecting
each dot of light, and, yes,
this has to be the last letter, hoping
that you’ll see it this time—
even when eight minutes
of light travel isn’t even
enough.