when my nights were shorter, i read a story.

now you are something else.

i knew you were here,

sh'e

sat there unstirred
the lamp of the courtyard

silumenare retrato

in late january, two thousand eleven

there was

a passage i decided to experience

and a handle that made me pause

for those

hold
there

i don't normally

but i heard a loop
from that night before

a pair of hands

and some number of whing'ed beaks

mornings brushing teeth

by the bathroom window

in january

we flew on an airplane together

with a few bags of things

and we experienced the hours of the day

after closing an open window

dashing on,

sun still tucked within the cloud,

eyes still tucked behind the lid,

and the rapidity slowed to some known tune i cannot name,

wait

-ing

not entirely

like a shell

cinq rue st merri

an hour
after noon

some sound

mint

dates

for the heavied eye lids

sucre

citron

they mean something different now

(when i was there

they helped me to

go from one place

to another place)

they allowed me to know i was here

mid mode

intranet

between there and there

there is here

and there is here