Nathan AM Almeida

[6 September 2019]

You walk in the deepnesses, in the spaces
between. In my mind, I see your
chest rise and fall, inhale and exhale, the
air in and out, breath, till my mind is filled with
the liminal space between you and me
and not-me. A car horn out the window.
The ground swells, surges forward, upward,
closing the distance between here and there
and thereafter, dotting the landscape with
a trail of thoughts left unto themselves to
carry the full force of being, selfsame longing, urges
urging forward, on, on, and on and together. Your feet
were grown in the dust next door, but you
never found a home there. I see your
shoulders, strong, heavy, carving a
silhouette on the wall, bearing the weight
of stories yours and mine and not-not-mine,
untransacted solace and atemporality
and distance, snow, running like blood
down the dirt on the face of Christ.