I trace hieroglyphics

in the back of your hand,

knowing you can read these

messages as I stare at space

more beautiful for being

around us instead of between us

and the ease of living

with my palm against yours


every single


since I last saw you

until I am me,

you are you,

we are we

(always an us floating about this tent)

as we drift

from here to there,

careless as an invincible

dinghy leaving tracks on

the surface of the waters

we watched grow from

a dripping to

a puddle to

a lake to

an ocean,

for we are the sea.


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