equal parts pop song and helium, I have finally become whole again, surrendering
to the metallic, shimmering lake.
it’s summer, if summer means a thousand ideas turn on and off, like fireflies in jars.

toy bells,
salty skin,
in the distance, venus has her picture taken.
a young hand leads an old hand
towards an uncrossable bridge.

I dress the afternoon in cotton candy blues and pinks that resemble no colors found in nature.
the lawn, green and dusty, considers its origins,
its picnicking patrons, full of wayward glances, on beds of handmade mexican blankets.
under a nearby palm tree, there’s a boy who reminds me of you, leaning back with ease,
laying a wilted weed across his good knee. you
must be a continent away, so busy on the other side of some wall, counting blinks in your video haze.

how I long to be named.
how the fragments collide, stitch by stitch.

how we learn to forget, in the way that my skin forgets the water
as soon as I pull my feet
back out to the edge.

so I gather remedies for you, a pinch of baby’s breath, a bath of primrose and honey, a colosseum for your thoughts.
our minutes, unmarked and anonymous,
sing me this summer song:
the silver-white streak of a jet hovers high above the children, screaming in delight.
it trails a banner behind its skyward tail, undecipherable, selling me something,
bearing its message in the language of the gods:

all that I’ve learned, I’ve borrowed from you.

here, the sun destroys everything.