Some time

Some time has passed. I feel the moment where I left in my skin with a cooling wetness the very same that I feel as I return. All of the days are over. The one where I spent down the sun doubled over a desk, the day in the sun and the rain, the day hiding in my own shadow, softened by the sheets, and the blinds, and the brick, and the crown of the palm, has fallen useless and unconnected into the blocks behind me. Which one wasnt hiding. Which one was me with everything. As night falls on each body in each of them it tears away only that one shadow across the horizon. It stretches but it doesnt break. It disappears. She has been waiting with each day, in this one form, mostly absent, but waiting. I dont know why I kept her there, and so easily now, I gesture from the window. She puts her palms atop her hips and arches her back with squinting eyes and her dresses fight across her chest in tension. She puts her hands backwards around the tree trunk. Her skirts shift and she looks and the ground. She looks long because nothing happens slow enough. The grasp of her toes against the sidewalk is a whole night of streetlight passing and another as her heel leaves the ground, and night after night she has walked slowly into this cold mess and what do I expect now as I unlock the steel door and leave it ajar and pull the curtains tight over the windows. I expect to stay here. I am all that I expect still.



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