In slowness, You appear.
Like a leaf drifting on water, You find me.
But, distance now has become a chasm.
“Where do you see me now?” You ask.
In light, in shadow, in the inbetween.
Hoping somewhere in the grain, I see a glimpse of You.

I delve into pockets of space. Where reality has a blurry state, similar to opening your eyes in the morning. There’s a comfort in the familiar haze being the first to greet you. In such events, my images are found. Veiled meetings of light and shadow become known in the intimately ordinary. By embracing these instances, I cultivate a method of space travel. The chasm is breached. No longer am I bound by distance’s isolation.

A language based upon memory and light forms. Words become embodied by the obscured and opaque. Grain and speckle render the presence of my hand. Letters, some unposted, some with just a breath, rest in a field of silver crystals. A graveyard in want of warmth, in want of a name after “in loving memory.”

The past does not lay dormant. I return to the mango tree I grew up with in the backyard. I return to the insufferable summer heat my siblings and I have always complained about. I return to my empty home, with the sound of my refrigerator, reminding me of my mother’s nebulizer.