Text to Myself
Here we are, the two of us. On the couch with
aching joints, jaw-clenched faces. The space
between our legs is filled with a yellow-glowing
brightness, connected through all these days,
walking behind one another. “Across the room”,
your small fingernail, you point.
Across the room lies a snow-covered branch, indeed.
Wetness seeping through the precious carpet.
A ghostly vibrato echoes from underneath.
We look at eachother. Is it the branch we hear?
Melting snowflakes come out of your eyes
fall and land in the space between our legs. I say to you:
“When I walk into a room, any room,
I will glance at the left corner
and see a hint of gold where your understanding lies”