“GHHHhhHHHH.” Eyes unsticking. Consciousness grasping out of a sandstone void. Heavy blankets of cheap fleece peel back. Thoughts don’t harden into words. Switched off that deafening heater. I; tenderly. Is not there. Am I snail? What was that dream where this body lived somewhere else? With a mother with a triangle haircut. This trauma or that. Pink walls close in, even in the dark. Time has broken its joints. A lifetime mushrooms and sinks, as light as the dream. Breathing is hard, thinking is different, but baby wipes on the toilet remind me what’s real: A flight (scary), a fiancé (far away), a human (me). Phone glows familiar and my fingers call him. That thick weave of time and place and self, unravelled. Connection lost. I drift back to sleep.
On love and leaves:
I press you in my book
and flip the pages back
and forth, I know even if you stay
your sweetness will soon fade.
You will fade like sand, like waves,
like sugar into tea.
But for now, I've held you in pages,
your fallen brothers
incensed with the oils of you.
And I can taste "time when".
I can taste gold flecked with black,
a bitter pan fry.
He once said I was marble.
But how different you are
from a scratch in marble
Your trace is gone before you are.