the art of hugging
And then someone sends an awkward text,
the device rattles and vibrates. These are perilous times
astrologically speaking, a mercurial retrograde is enough
to provoke a reluctant response
quietly past midnight. This i know,
because i was there in spirit to disappoint them all once again.
It's really okay, she said, there will be some left over
for tomorrow. It was my turn to walk away
and show off what a driven walker I've become.
There is more than enough time
for the guesswork needed to unravel the night.
As the snow drifts in and out of focus another one
asks how long we've been waiting. Public transportation
is the perfect metaphor for inspiration. There's never
the right color ink to comment
on the margins, to underline the needs
and wants of everyone involved. Might
as well dog-ear the pages we'll return
to later. Believe me, I've done this before. We are
all heading in the same direction.
We then discuss earnestly the geography
between us when we realize we've missed
a lot more than deadlines. He is welcoming
and gone, but manages to explain it all
really clearly. Make no mistake
about it, the map is inaccurate.
The photograph is lost, tucked away
between a stranger's pages. Forget the rage
contained between buildings, the colors
are off anyways, the memory overexposed.
Feeling your breath on my neck, after all,
will seem like the most natural thing in the world.