When asked of what happened to us, the question stuck around like a ring, as if my head were Saturn. And my body was in Earth, rummaging for the chest secreted unkempt and untouched for quite some time now.
I saw us in a freezing land under the burning sky, standing in opposite sides of a train coming through.
We were what’s between the beauty of the moon and the sunrise.
We were the dawn breaking and the city skyline forming.
We were the ocean of dubiety oscillating from the shore.
We were magnets with negative poles repelling and dancing away to the rhythm of our souls.
We were the coexistence of birth and death.
We were the improbabilities of everything and nothing in love and life.
We were the yellow light on stoplights.
We were the question left hanging.
When asked of what happened to us, the question stuck around like a ring, as if my head were Saturn. And my body was unearthing the chest, now touched and kempt.
I saw us in a thawing land under the sleeting sky, standing in opposite sides of a train coming through.
We were past hollowing and wilting.
We are what’s between winter and summer.
We are spring—
into parts, apart.