i think i’ll have you always in memory, like a gift or a grave.
we wait for the world to come to us and then become paralyzed when it does, offers us soulful eyes and unsure hands, and a gravity contained. you cannot help this magnetic field. you cannot help this poetry come alive. just as you cannot help this
sleepy town, this lonely bus stop, this body beside you who is leaning in, like an unsaid promise, like so much possibility, and now you arrive writing poetry because it is the only thing left you can hold,
the only place that bears the evidence you were even here — that for even a moment, even if now only in memory, there was a silence in the air, a quiet smile, a few words, some small collision, some colossal course alteration.
