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I said, wait-- then

dawn collapsed leaving only the moon

jellyfish rising like hot air balloons 

I see see-through dress

membrane, presence, shedding a layer 

before becoming an incandescent insect

stumbling towards a barren land of light

children walk up and down the street

waiting for you-- me, here

candy, glass, candy, your shadow

among misty birches

hiding, but pretending that you're not hiding 

looking at the light in the kitchen, watching what you're not supposed to see

your old lover, the person ignoring your calls 

grey and haunted 

if you call me I will turn around

if you want me to wait I will wait

if you give me that night

if you give me that whisper

wrapped in plastic

I'll take off the mask and eat them

wound up in the choking of a crowd

breathing in their breathing and

not able to look to either side

I look into the grey matter at the bottom of my cup

I look into the baobab seed

I look into the parentheses

I press my hands into my ears 

to block out the sound

if I can’t hear it I didn’t hear it I never heard it I won’t hear the lie

it was quiet--

inaudible—your lips moving but a throat without vibration

closing my eyes, cringing, in bed, collapsing myself into myself

I remember Celine—a figment in porch light

a crease on the bedspread

not my lover in the headlights, rain pelting us like grains of sugar

with hands shaking, I can barely keep the pencil

erect