writing from memory

You walk briskly with sleep embedded in your skin; wait for light to change at the intersection. You stumble across the street. Someone whispers a song into your ear, sound shaping your limbs.

Far away

Your eyes are closed listening for silence at Times Square. You wait for a clear path to open, for concrete to break into clear panels of glass that promise to hold your resolute weight.

A new way

To tell you a secret, whispered into fading light that falls into your shadow. I’ll trade you squares for circles, leave my shadow in your keeping.

Another day.

Will you remember this scattered warmth that explodes into April flurries? Fat flakes follow the wind’s path, find themselves flattened in a finite pool of water on the stained window pane.

I can’t say

How your body fell into a shadow and disappeared. Beneath this light, your skin is quiet, your veins deep blue.