black ink scraps of white unlined paper, some time ago, in semi-darkness:

You and I, we quickly allow these many small erosions–

the fire hydrant’s leak upon our feet, the gradual disintegration of paper,

the ever and ever passing of time.

The dart’s point grows ever duller with each throw.

My first grey hair lies with Yuliya in Berlin,

beside a burning chapel. 

I spend years of my life on train cars, alone.

We think: how did it happen this time, the sunset? 

The swell and the breaking. The water, the anchor. 

A car door slams a thousand years ago in Brooklyn.

I hear your voice. We sleep, we blindfold each other against the sun.