I wish I knew history enough to use it
as a metaphor, and it’s like the night
I had to say sorry because I couldn’t
really kiss you. Even now what I remember
is the feeling of old heartbreak settling
into new wounds as the night tapped
on my window.
Today I thought about leaving my apartment
but it rained. Then it stopped. Then it rained.
And I cried twice to two different songs.
It wasn’t about the songs anymore. Do you
get what I’m saying? Why I couldn’t leave?
I don’t think there’s anything outside
these walls. When I think about the rain,
I remember only the word rain.
I write two kinds of poems:
ones from within,
when I give myself to the world,
and ones from without,
when the world gives itself to me
as I merely watch.
Funny how when I remember only myself
it is the only thing I cannot feel.
But looking up at the sky, I feel it tip
cosmos spilling into a mouth
that has forgotten the word mouth.
Now I know that I want to be everything
so that your name
cannot break me.
3:47 am 53 notes