curator

I am seeking out the parallels of our lives.

Pressing echoes of your footprint into the grass.

Riding the same solitary trains

that connect daydreams to the color of dusk.

Collecting copies of books already read

and thumbing their spines like rosary beads.

 

I am curating myself with pieces of you.

Borrowed shoes. Mosaic eyes. A laugh spread wide.

Sometimes I imagine your voice shaping words like “cinnamon” and “poet.”

Folding and unfolding the sounds in my head,

until I can hear them again.

 

I am made from the way we wait together.

Growing into the shape of a room where you sit.

Wandering with you through passages of time

and pointing out the different statures of love.