where's your head
here
and here
and here
one hand reaches from three directions
toward the same golden thing—
tortilla folded into
t r i a n g l e s
of being present
the coastline splits:
horizon horizon
horizon
we are sitting at the table
we are already driving away
we are remembering sitting at the table
I was just looking for you
the fire from this morning
still warm in the upper left
corner of the afternoon
clouds take three-quarters
of what's left
someone says something funny
and your profile and your full face
laugh at the same time
1452
the light catches
differently
on each plane of goodbye