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

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