Sun, 1 February

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