For this travelling companion,
this confidant, incorrigible sibling,
I’ll be the soldier
who fights for non-existent things.
For causes unknown,
in the rubble where I was thrown
the writing on the wall like a plucked feather
in the pages of each other
until the memory of movement is dead.
This mouth, fed
one last image before
She is drawing under the light
of a paper lantern.
The ink is dark like her hair,
wet strands on parchment paper,
if only to form the cryptic letter
that wasn’t to me or anyone else.
She turns towards herself,
the time when the city is engulfed in quiet
and the music is a memory
into the brain,
shrug off the silence in vain,
tomorrow she’ll be dreaming
as I’m leaving
without a lock or a key
to her thoughts,
a strand of her hair
to keep close in my tangled corridors.
In my reading of her, in my routine stir of the surface,
lest we’ve become stagnant seaweed between
the motion of what we’ve shared.
An ocean for the abandoned there
and you are not alone
I keep telling myself,
this is why you are there for her.
When the sky’s wide rainclouds cover and color
all that proceeded under,
motherless and prone,
the lantern in the darkest of weather
is that you are not alone.