I like that you are far away / And that the rumors of my thoughts travel like light / From star to star on their way

ℵ I like that you are far away, And that the rumors of my thoughts travel like light From star to star on their way To you. They are so patient, like a century, waiting on the porch for each Of all its days

∻ I like that on the waves that carry me gently that carry me with anger, the shouting shore recedes, its silver frozen peaks, its shadowed alleys, its green – decaying – growing groves they shimmer, and they wink and in the middle of the night they leave without even the simple kindness of a goodbye because it is a kindness to be alone.

≐ I remember nothing, and I am faceless and as flat as the sea at rest: as uniform as a stretching sky, I am as far away as the night.

≘ And then my heart yawns and exhales great volumes of memory and it shakes the waves, and I pick and choose and cast away, and I am left alone, in my solitary dream, with the remembrance of your pink hair, your brown hair, your tigress-blonde; Your azure eyes, your jade eyes, your eyes of fresh earth flecked with mica stars: your endlessly searching wild wide open eyes. your skin as smooth and warm as an afternoon & I dream of oranges

∢ I like that you are far away, so that I can keep you close to me, and wrap you up in my un- measured joy,

⋯ I have filled my soul on an early breakfast of eggs and anecdotes and the night is falling asleep on the faint, blue, foam-topped swell; the easterly wind sings with a voice of fledgling flame and silver and pink, and I will make my way, slowly, along the long path and the back streets and the potholed roads, while the morning wakes and stirs, and stretches out its feet to the floor.

≬ You will always be far, even when you are near, and you will be quiet when I need to hear you scream, and you will cry out when I am in want of a whisper.

≓ you are: the opposite of me, the opposition to my oversimplification, the broken shards of my rule, and even that — sometimes you will see me in the mess we made:

∢ that is when I see you with gods’ eyes, and I am the waves on which you glide and you are the water on which I walk, and we are the streams dancing and laughing like children playing

∞ At the edge of endlessness. on an impossible street corner. But I hear beauty in the thunder. and I am almost home. And there are people already, on the sidewalk, in the street: on their way, somewhere.

∈ I am made up of memories, but we - are defined - by distances like the stars wheeling through the night,

and we rearrange, and sometimes, find our place ∎