january 14 2021

1.

i admire and adore you very much, do not make me apologize for it.

2.

“who was the last person you had sex with?”

“you.”

“oh. right.”

3.

i look at you through the long shag of hair that now covers my face and you make drinking water look sexy. i suppose it just is a sexy thing to do. especially while holding eye contact like you do. are you like this with everyone? yes and no. yes because you try to hold the eye contact with everyone. no, because not everyone stares back and makes you look away first. i never lose.

4.

the world is very big. the world is very small. the world ends between this street and that street. the world goes no further. the earth is flat. the earth is only as round as the curvature between here and there. the earth is still round. the earth is only part of the world. the world is very big. i wonder if fish fall in love. i wonder what it’s like in the depths of the ocean. i wonder what life is like with no sunlight. i wonder what it’s like down there with the lanternfish. i wonder what it’s like to have x-ray vision. i wonder what it’s like to see ultraviolet. i wonder how many hand prints you’d see on the wall around this bed.

january 13 2021

when she visits:

the sea will part.

when she visits:

walk together
walk slowly.

when she visits:

prophecies come true,
doomsday arrives,
eternal life flows.

when she visits:

“can i stay?”
“please stay.”
“can i stay?”
“i’m afraid you can’t.”

when she visits:

late-night writing,
skincare routines,
bed-head,
head-bed,
years of love to catch up on.

when she visits:

don’t think about her departure.

january 11 2021

dear,

i have returned to the concrete house in the woods. the big square window still allows in god’s light and, two nights ago, the peering eyes of a bear. the fire was still going outside, and he stood next to it for ten minutes or so before leaving.

startling is how — even in the wild — i’ve begun to number the trees and ravines like streets and avenues. my walks are slow trudging. the snow has accumulated, but it should loosen up in a few days. the lake’s ice is thin. i pretend to skip rocks all the way across the surface, and feel as though i’ve broken some world record for the longest rock-skipping. guinness would not agree.

this place was supposed to be my “alone” place, but i am not lonely. among these trees, in between these mountains, diversity means birds, bears, fish, trees, bushes. staring contests between me and the birds around the house have become more intense. we are friends now. even the wolves don’t seem so vicious. they’re just trying to eat. here i am the only human, and the human is only one of many here.

will be back in the city soon,

or not,

—ds