[5 September 2019]
Let us go then,
To the time when the evening is stretched out like the dawn,
A diary of comings and goings,
Perilously stretched taught and strung high on the rafters
Between Orion and Andromeda:
The fog rolls in off the lake water,
Covers streets and windows and streetlights
That line the road between my house and yours,
Seeping in places where the door was left just a crack open
And where I touched the hem of your shirt.
The question goes unasked, goes unanswered
(Kept caged in the space made safe by finding reasons to live
And unknowing best-forgottens),
Goes unknown itself for itself;
The indemnity falls flat, fortune made hollow by repetition,
Slipped in-between the lines we cared not to read.
Honour is too strong a word, or too mild;
It eats its way through memories
Stored in old photographs, broken plates, and dirty socks,
Lingering on the edge of intangibility,
Holding on to a sense of self that transcends temporality and dignity.
Your chest rises and falls;
You breathe in the air of an era long past but never gone –
A time of asking “Are you here?” and, “Are you here?”
And, “Are you here?”
Always silently between dream and dream.