Magical -

the first thing I’ll do is return to Ringer’s circle

and imagine you there,

“a lad who didn’t die.”

And you will never die

you will never be 30, never be grown,

you will always be covered in tiny hieroglyphs, strange

tiny pictures drawn in blue and red ink lines.

Beautiful, you spit into the fire,

why did you look up to me? I only ever looked across at you,

holding cups of coffee.

I wish I had enough eyes

to meet your stare with confidence.

In a daydream,
a flag emblazoned with every color
hangs boldly in my window.

A filter for your boundless
ill will, I stare at

the back of your neck

for practice. I’ll meet you

under the ice.

I’m convinced that you could take any form,

the real, the imagined, the physical, the spiritual.

With a voice I’ve never heard and a face I’ve never seen:

indelibly solid, you are ice

made tangible from water.

Your clear green …

all I ever do is evaporate.

I wish you were on the inside

of my sparkling, that something

even I can’t crawl into.

You make me so nervous and I want to

solidify in the snow.

why did you look up to me? I only ever looked across at you

2018 Window Gallery solo exhibition at UrbanGlass in Brooklyn, NY

Image Credit: Gabriel Cosma

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