There is a day in late summer,
alone in an ocean with all
of my fingers wrapped tightly
around the curls in your hair.
There is a bright shirt strewn across
a foggy beach, our bodies wet
and everything damp from the salt
in the air.
There is a dream kept soft on my tongue,
an insistence in your voice and your
round face beaming bright
like the light from the moon.
There is my memory kept still like a spectrum
that ranges from all of the things
impossible to forget to
wanting to keep seeing you.
OR
When the distance is now
so immeasurable
that the cracks
in the floorboards
become shifted plates
where only the Earth
shines through.
When the hole in my heart
becomes so big
that it is no longer a wound
but slowly a crater,
a surface so vast
that it reminds me of
the surface of the moon.
When time stops being a straight line
and becomes a fold in a cortex,
a jagged ridge
that runs a spectrum of
needing to forget and
wanting to stay close to you.