all distance is overhauled and I see you briefly, lit from above, as an underpass peeling back each tag and mural in chaotic relief. there is a sense that the excavation matters; the air inhales itself and draws back. a thread of dilute understanding passes, like light, through the eye of a needle, and our eyes too are wild for it, for connection.

but it cannot be maintained: our mouths falter and, weakly, the feeling dissipates to join the disparate ranks of another hundred failures hung unspoken between us. I exit shouldering a string of fears in loose orbit of my own sun.

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