Blame it on the mercurial crossing.

As a child, my parents moved home the distance of the ocean.

As a child, sleeping away loss, the plane over the Pacific

               in the dark, making its way toward the solar eclipse

like a dedicated lover.

It all feels like a late yesterday.

Now towarding the border of a creek

the sun’s light retracting on the loveliness

of a new face, the mist ghosting the Pacific.

Something is always fleeting.

Is it fearing what I’m likely to miss—

you who have always been a stranger.

The memories that move in your ghost tonight.

Feeling dizzy and dazed, the way my head feels

after too many glasses of champagne,

toasting to a long lost birthday.

Nothing fits

so barehanded I will love

what is splintered, this lantern of

our post-flammable home.