you found me out in a field, you tripped over my sight
these are long-distance days and all the while, the mercury empties from windowsills (how they leave our hallways with reluctance, already in awe of the clarity and the lamina glow as streets dissolve again.) & as for me? i have been restitching buttons on sweaters & closing up the seams with needle & thread.
i lie on the hardwood floor with my feet on a whitewashed radiator, and from the other end of the line, s. tells me about direction & the ways of passage. she memorizes road-maps like poetry, and the navigations of right now bring me such comfort. distance seems small & the nearness seems much closer. across the atlantic, we talk about inspiration and the way we seem to glow, sometimes.
yesterday, i bought spices for chai & great bunches of kale that broke off in cold-weather shards as i walked home. i am reading a book of essays by david foster wallace & derrida for class. silk-screening & laundry, good silences. empty mornings. early mornings.
i am taking all the penciled measurements of time.
i lie on the hardwood floor with my feet on a whitewashed radiator, and from the other end of the line, s. tells me about direction & the ways of passage. she memorizes road-maps like poetry, and the navigations of right now bring me such comfort. distance seems small & the nearness seems much closer. across the atlantic, we talk about inspiration and the way we seem to glow, sometimes.
yesterday, i bought spices for chai & great bunches of kale that broke off in cold-weather shards as i walked home. i am reading a book of essays by david foster wallace & derrida for class. silk-screening & laundry, good silences. empty mornings. early mornings.
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