a man came into the gallery.
vagrant, although a rude word.
he inquired, "it's photographs right?"
a rustic voice.
i knew he had no money to donate
let alone money to eat so i let him in.
he entered, looked, chatted with
me. "is he a police officer?"
"he" meant the artist i gathered.
"no.". "oh, these could be any city."

"yes, all cities are the same."

he walked outside, sat on the stoop, disappeared.

his eyes reflected
the ocean & all my
past memories faded.

he stared at me with
his eyes filled with
an absent sadness.

straight laced.
navy blue.

pressed my hand into his
chest of hair resembling
a field of dry marsh
grasses in december.

a brisk day of sunshine
& below average temperatures.

dry cracked skin
his hand caressed my
shoulders.

skin & bones resembling
rolling hills of
golden wheat.

a summer day that
has yet to be experienced
or appreciated.

& when i wake in the morning i inch closer.
sliding my body against the blankets i make it to your sighing body.
warm & enclosed
in my pale orange blanket.
i unwrap you and you tie me up in the package of your arms.
i place my head on your clavicle & you nod your head down,
kissing my hair like sealing an envelope
& addressing it with a sleepy "good morning"
& we are sent away for a few more moments

of sleep.

nikki gives jeff a stick and poke tattoo at the mansion.
it says "mom" with a heart.
december.
jeff wears face paint.
why the fuck not?

i can't remember these shapes.
these shadows, and your forlorn gaze permeate the surroundings.

we are these places that are overgrown.
in our bedrooms,
in those nooks made from driftwood and rusty nails.
places where you can open your eyes and look up.
where your iris changes colour from brown to blue.
when you hold my heart in your hands i feel calm.
like we are one soul which we are.
like our eyes are always looking at the same place no matter how far apart we are.
& that is our connection.

"when do we move forwards?" she said.
"first we must step backwards, then we can move forwards. want to play chess?" i replied.

no more questions. just silence.

i can always hear your raspy breath leaving your decaying body. that's fine,
i guess. it's practically silence. at least
i know of your decay. i'm glad i know
your heart won't continue to beat because
it lets me know to let go. it's not rapid, it's just like the rest.

"are you sure you don't want to play chess?"
i ask again.

i think about battleship. we never want to
drown each other, we just want to sail away.

"i'm going to stare into your eyes until you blink."

instantaneous
eyelashes on your freckled skin.
you collapse into the grass
i place your collarbones in my breast pocket
& leave your heart and fingernails for the birds buried in the earth.

keys don't open all doors.

a page from my sketchbook.
a story about the wind.

"in japan the pacific is miso soup."

"yeah, we just get the salt remnants, more people have throat infections here."

i would like to fall in love with someone.
someone who will sit on a cliff & stare
at the ocean with me for hours.
someone who will watch the storm settle.
someone who will settle the storm.

on my way to work today a man boarded the bus that i have never seen on that bus at that time before, it was five am. it's always the regulars, you know.

sallow faces, tired souls.

this man sat across from me waving his arms in exhaustion and disbelief, he shook his head at me giving a look of "i don't know."

i felt he needed to speak to me, maybe just wanted to so i removed my headphones and said "yes?".

he kept repeating "i don't know, i don't know!"

there was a language barrier, i could tell, he had trouble explaining his story but he calmed down a bit and explained what had happened.

it seems some guys he met had asked him to attend a party with them around fifth and main street. he went and i guess just before he boarded the bus he witnessed one of the men beating his girlfriend against a wall and shaking her, calling her a bitch. he motioned this at me, his eyes bulged and shook. other people on the bus now seemed interested in his story but most dismissed his presence.

he said he jumped in beating the man assaulting her when his friends jumped in and they all started beating him. he motioned all of these brawls, punching in the air, punching towards his face and clenching his eyes as if he was reliving the experience. he would reopen his eyes to only have them protrude further from his amber skin.

everything seemed to move in slow motion for me. my mind wandered, i did not know if i should believe him.

he repeated his story a few times. he told me someone called the police so he ran. ran away from the men beating him and the police for he had no witness and believed no one would believe him.

he did not know what happened to the girl but hoped she was okay.

i felt he was brave & cowardly.

he had no bruises, he did not look as if he had been beaten.

he told me he lived near metrotown but the skytrain was not running so he did not know where he was going. we disembarked at main and hastings and i directed him to main and keefer where he could catch the nineteen bus to metrotown.

he thanked me. i departed north down main and he south.

"i found them! the ghosts! they were inside my coat the entire time!"

... yes, yes...
oh, okay.

"amanda, the harmonica please."

i know your heart is broken.

mine is broken too.

i placed everything from you in the crack, tried to seal it with old stories and memories but these things don’t last. they erode like cliffs of sand.

i will never have you back.

nothing ever stays the same.

tides rise and fall and the ocean is good at stealing most things.

i’m sure it stole our hearts that day.

sitting on the shore staring at the vast expanse of water, tears, tea.

i can say i’m sorry over and over but i break everything.

promises aren’t for everyone.

division and 49th
we saved you from a street corner.
beaten and chewed on by children and dogs.
your ears almost completely torn off, your missing legs, your damaged eye and your ratty mane.
we saw you. we fell in love.
struggling to remove you from your chain linked to the sidewalk we carefully pulled and freed you from your place.
we cared for you, showed you the pacific northwest from a train car.
portland to vancouver.
your new home is here with small trinkets on the windowsill.

blanket fort. soft pink sheets over my head. listening to nico, chelsea girls on vinyl. sheets draped over a vintage brown vinyl kitchen chair. laying on a colourful crocheted afghan. small tears in the woolen seams. warm. the light shines through like a child’s summer dream. i am dreaming. this isn’t necessarily real. we are listening to “i’ll keep it with mine”, i believe. we are laying beside each other. warm.

i tell her.

“i can’t keep anymore secrets.”

she says “just one. last one.”

she grabs my face, fingers grasp hair. faces pressed together. warm, wet, salty tears. but we are happy. we are dreaming.

kiss.

we do not stop. we are in the blanket fort. dreams. we have our arms wrapped around each other. her skin is soft. i forgot about her cupcake tattoo. her soft folds of skin fit perfectly in my grasp. i wipe tears from her cheeks. her eyelashes stick together like best friends. i love her. i tell her i love her and it is true. i am in love. she is surprised.

“i’ve suppressed all these feelings”, she says.

she is a sad person. we destroyed each other. but in the blanket fort everything is fine. we are both lost in our minds, lost in a cloud. she is above me, her body over mine. her eyes are bright, glistening with old tears. i watch her jaw tremble. she is above and a tear falls from her eye and onto my cheek.

she is a cloud.

“you are a cloud.” i say.

she agrees. i am a cloud.

i imagine her skin with a drawn nightmare covering her face. eyes closed, patterned skin.

she is a dream.

she is a nightmare.

we are inseparable as these things. i do not want to let go. i want to hold on. we are both wearing plaid. she says “homo camping”. we sit beside each other. quiet. smoking cigarettes. i light two at once, one for her, one for me. she laughs slightly, nods her head down. ashes out her cigarette, turns her head slightly towards me. left hand in her short curls of hair.

lips parted she whispers,

“i can’t quit you.”

& i agree.

these woodpeckers congregate in my neighbours yard.
filled with dead leaves, brambles and small figurines.
bird baths and feeders, wooden homes.
early morning till late afternoon they are there.

they try to use the feeders but they are much too big. the other birds do not seem fond of them.
they stand on the tops of the telephone poles and peck.
it echos for blocks, this ringing, tin sound.

when you watch them perform this act of absurdity you wonder their purpose
they cannot create a home there.

it seems they could be calling a friend. someone to help. a mate.
when another arrives they stare at each other
the first flies away.
the other may peck but often flies off after a try or two.

they all sit in the trees.
some peck at each other.

they seem to be fine with the time they spend together.

you used to visit me.
knock on the window, note on the door.
we once rode in boats with our hats askew on our heads. wind stroked faces, freckles, dry hands, frizzy hair unraveling under toques, bright hearts.

you would smile. you would. you always would.