In the dusty haze of light
reflected through tinted windows,
the sand seems stranded in midair
particles scattering in all directions
like a puff of smoke
falling softly with no purpose
until it settles into piles
the world on end,
waiting
for it to be scattered again:
from a footstep
                 an acceleration
                                   a lofty breeze
the golden flecks making their way
into cracks, between toes;
yearning for a home,
as though they were taken from their own.

Gray waves that hit the shore over and over
The never-ending drum of the air conditioner
Electric flowing through the crackling light overhead
Conversation meant just to pass the time
The rough jolt behind every shift in gear
Blurry landscapes sweeping by sans form
A ceramic fruit bowl that remains fruitless
Bar a browning banana and bruised apple
Alcohol that makes for a buzzing mind
Gravity that seduces rain to the ground
Where bright yellow boots splash in cloudy water
Refrigerator light rushing over wooden floors
Cotton shirts stiff from salt and bleached by sun

                                None of it is enough.

The mundane beauty of everyday life
Cannot compare to how it is imagined with you.
With you, the hum of the air conditioner is a song
the empty bowl a sweet peach that's just been eaten
and the refrigerator light throws shadows
on people who are enough
                                                for each other.

I stumble out of the bar
where the white flakes consume my shoulders and clean my shoes
I should be cold and yet I am warmed
Maybe the alcohol, more so a feeling
And I walk and I walk and I walk
While my friends wait and still I walk
Everything around me is still
Still except for the somber snow that
falls, melting towards the ground
So softly, and yet with such intention
As if it feels the need to cover-and it does everything.
The bench and sidewalk and my
eyelashes and the knee of
my ripped jeans.
I look up at the empty sky
which seems to hold such nothingness
yet which contains everything
I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen
and it belongs to me.
For as my cheeks flush and my fingers chill
It is only me and the floating
reflecting ***** of light that
never seem to reach the ground.
They glint off of the lampposts
and the never changing streetlights.
I lie on the ground and feel
the world spin around and around
and I think of what I would say if
someone was around but only silence will do.
For in a place-- in a world-- where everyone
flocks and hurries and shuttles around,
I have no place to be--
no bed could give me more comfort
no boy could give me more love
no person could give me more attention
Among the streets covered in glass
I walk for hours to realize I’ve been gone for minutes
I could stop here and lie and stare and freeze without knowing and die
with the snow that hits the pavement and melts away
But I continue, where I want to yell to everyone who will listen
to come out and lick the sky
and lie on the cold earth
and make angels out of their mortal bodies
But no one is listening bar my beating heart
And when I enter the heat
and my feet turn into puddles
and my hair becomes damp
all I can do is gaze out the window and imagine
I was alone in the cold wandering home.