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.
so barehanded I will love
what is splintered, this lantern of
our post-flammable home.