No one can come where I’m going
No I can’t take you too
I’m the only red thread the only river flowing
From here to there
Don’t you know I’m the missing puzzle piece
The thing that throws it all into relief
The one who links together all these disparate people
Like a string of beads
I am the meaning underneath
there is a sugar packet on the floor of the bathroom
and something about it seems very wrong, now that I mention it
everything about this bathroom feels wrong
the garbage can blocking the sink
the mirror so you can watch yourself taking a shit
sometimes there is too much space made for reflection.
maybe I am just in a funk but I find this to be true.
last night I dream of Aaron, as always, he is alive, but even in the dream
I know he is dead, I think I am lucky to get to see him,
I see him on the train, recognize him, and know he is dead,
but I think––look! he is alive. As though I can steal this moment
I ignore the fact and follow him through the dream until inevitably,
he slips through my fingers. About a year ago in Istanbul
following a thread of wild insanity clear as the water from a spring
I found myself in the arms of a Turkish man in a smoky club
called the secret garden. What am I doing here? I asked myself
and I almost walked out, but then he saw me, and then I got a drink,
God, did I need, a drink. And there was a moment, sitting on his lap,
kissing him, him biting my neck, that I moaned, said yes, was frustrated.
What? he asked alarmed, and I said, I wish we had more space.
He suggested the bathroom,
sugar on the bathroom floor.
Do you know that sometimes things just work out?
We hold each other in mutual unknowingness
temporarily stitching together sadnesses in the afternoon sun.
The details are unimportant, cumbersome, besides the point.
What matters is the mutual acknowledgement of frustration,
If we do not talk about it we will burst, she confesses.
Holding space need not entail perfect comprehension
to go beyond an understanding as light as it is deep.
We reach a wisteria grove
purple and unexpected
fragrant and pungent
and she places a fallen sprig
on my knee
before departing.
I sketch it hungrily, wishing for color,
an arc of green and flashes of purple.
as I sketch I realize, what I thought was
the end was the beginning.
