On the Subject of Time

We were building hollow blocks, figuring out how to

make them sit neatly next to each other. We were flip

and we were flop and we ended up with our noses pressed

close enough for a stranger to wonder if we were about to

hold hands. So we did. We held hands in the dark until your

eyes pulled shut. There were stars.

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I have always been a universe unto myself. I have always been

in servitude. What way is the best way? Whose ethical turn is this?

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The grey area is where you and I become steam.

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We’re sinking through stone now. We’re collaborating.

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There’s mold. We laugh. By now, you and I have seen enough to know

what would pull us apart and what wouldn’t. What we could talk about

in the dark, sink each other’s noses into sleeves, not feel the need to hide

because it’s actually okay to feel. To feel very deeply. To always think about

the ocean. A shadow in the dark, tendrils wet.