Here I am, up again, my friend, up
at some ungodly hour meant more
for dreaming they laying out schemes
of attack on a day for which I will
now be more poorly rested
and therefore less effective.
Here I am, pondering again
without the use of hallucinogens
how one might make time travel
or move space and stay in a place
impossible, the top corner of a room
watching a scene in our history unfolding.
A thousand times, again, hoping in this past
to find the ripple or fold that allows us
to explore what would have been
had you’d been less… or I’d been more…
perched atop the door to kick it closed
hold the knob shut as you twisted it and left.
Here nightly, brightly hunched and painting
in watercolors no one gets to see,
tongue out my left lips, a boy
still spreading stained rainbow
fingers into circles wrapped up
into imaginary rings of gold.
I should sleep. I should let go of
what simply will not be. The past,
a future, another version of the separate
life (lives) we lead. Somewhere
you’re awake, I dream, and listening.
Somehow this love, our love
radiates out from brain-meat to brain-meet,
this busy signal un-hung-up and sung
into ears by crickets in connected meadows
out the back doors and off the porch where
you are whispering and I am whispering.