suspense

the night before, we waited

hearts beating, working, stuffing

deciding on knick knacks and spaces

cooking something, fretting.




i breathe deep the air of it

as i would the first inhale at sea

only opposite: a last, a parting,

a familiar scent soon to be strange.




“what were you like as a child,”

she asked me just today—and i mourned,

a lot like this, see: always longing for

the ideal, and seeing it everywhere




yearning for a moment to be ages

feeling a wave of loss before it breaks

“i was a sad kid,” to put it simply

as a bright morning forces us beyond.





the night before does not remember itself

breathing deep last air as though the first

sad child longing for eternity to be now

liminal morning prowls just beyond

8/09/23