Jan 15 2023
a kind of restless and beautiful sense,
that in my dreams the seas are of gold
i can't see the colors,
        and i can't see the streams

i've yet to see silver flowing through the canals
that the ghosts carry bags of old post notes
i can't see the textures,
        and i can't feel your heat

there's shimmering likeness: in the crashing waves
i'm letting go of the deepest pains
i can't feel the wounds,
        and i can't tell us apart