There is another place we can go to. Tomorrow is
the day. Nate’s in the city. Dates are under way.
We didn’t go to church Sunday. Clothes are drying.
Relationships ended or become altogether new thing.
When cracks in the ocean floor, hot springs flare,
those earliest forms of life bubble up. Trees of
triagonal planes. Believing in everything and
nothing. Grapefruit or cloud. Audiences a little
too tight. They ran the marathon and finished,
they told a story and played jazz. The flame of
this candle is steady, it grows taller, it waves,
flickers, I will blow it out. My friend is meeting
many friends, and of them all he is my eldest.
Coincidentally, all our exes might be visiting the
city too. Some have found love. Many indeed
have lost it. And we all aren’t looking for it,
but all these friendships are something. The
people on the subway, from behind sunglasses, we
find a few of them charming. One lady in the crowd
starts shouting something. Do we call it weird?
Walk in the park at night and the wildlife may or
may not surprise you. Fifteen thousand photographs
in our phone; a few stories to tell; couples of
things stay only between us. Growing old. We like
the old E across from us. We like the Nate who asked
for tobacco and everyone who stepped up to the mic.
The trombone student has two kids. Life, it starts
over here and there at the speed of light. I
remember some of the movies I watched. This one is
silent. You cannot blame a thing for not working
if the things you do cause it to die. One more
line and you could have yourself a square old time.