Watermark

I count to three and grin. You smile and let me in. We sit and
watch the wall you painted purple. Speech will spill on space.
Our little cups of grace. But pauses rattle on about the way
that you cut the snow-fence, braved the blood, the metal of
those hearts that you always end up pressing your tongue to.
How your body still remembers things you told it to forget.
How those furious affections followed you. I've got this store
bought way of saying I'm okay, and you learned how to cry in
total silence. We're talented and bright. We're lonely and
uptight. We've found some lovely ways to disappoint, but the
airport's almost empty this time of the year, so let's go play
on a baggage carousel. Set our watches forward like we're
just arriving here from a past we left in a place we knew too
well. (Hold on to the corners of today, and we'll fold it up to
save until it's needed. Stand still. Let me scrub that brackish
line that you got when something rose and then receded.