we’re trailing dew over our lashes
we’re drying ourselves off with silk
we’re ethereal. are we?
over the columns and the statues
and the fuzzy blankets, the lamps
the eyes in the walls, our feet
meet the asphalt of a highway.

two trucks blaze by us, screaming
our names, and we lean against
each other— but my back is cold,
so we turn and dance on the road,
the trucks screaming
screaming
scream

we realize,
you are not here.
i realize:

you are not here.