The cliff juts out like a chin into nothingness
Maybe the wind blows through the reeds
Like fingers through hair
Maybe the cloud is shaped like a paternal wave and
Maybe the dead roll the sun like a ball down the hill
To show us the night isn’t dreadful

The emptiness where two blues meet is where the world ends
Even when you squint in its direction
Even when you follow beams of fire and
Even when you thought you could grasp it but
It was liquid

Somewhere the lakes are made of slate
So we never drowned
Somewhere it isn’t like playing chess with dice and
Somewhere we didn’t choke on platitude stew

I would trade a lifetime of goodbyes for just one