.
memory, faulty mechanics.
i haven't decided whether i'm confused or unconcerned.
a character you've never met in a book you've never read
spooks me a note from you.
i think you're pretty.
i'm disarranged. i'm sure of it.
the long-sharp edge between us, collapsing in a ruffle.
i'm saying something out loud. do you hear me?
i don't know which dream-He you are. hiding-He or growling-He growling. i want to
know that in my ear. we could step into an image of what we have lost.
i chalk a map of the continent into the street between our houses.
pinks and browns and lavenders.
butter-pat yellow. seagreen.
your face is just an idea. or,
my face is just an idea. or,
our faces are golden, wet, wanting, displaced.
do you remember me?
don't let your lips lilt, or wilt, or wander my way. i miss you.
even a bold garden / is already wistful.
what?
nothing, i never
said that.
let me check my notebook. that last one. the eleventh letter at the hour with the feather hidden between those last two pages. the edges matted. stucktogether.
the note in the margin reads unreachable, left of the left margin. a moment suspended. as if it didn't apply, didn't invite to bite the apple.
let me check. i'm checking. i move each page i ever read as if a sail, as if a veil, as if in amber, as if.
haven't you? haven't you always.
you've always been a ghost.
.
