and though between light and dark is small
it explodes upon the rest of a gaze

to find in oneself that very space
to allow it to unfold into the umpteenth dimension

and there in the soft bake of the sun, plumeria blossom
stamina whispering words we hear but cannot listen

take your life into your own hands.
this is all any of us will ever need from you


the snow melts
water rushing between conifers

pollen on the glass of a liquid crystal display
up above: birdsong


A man awakes stuck in sticky morning to the sound of a tokay gecko
clinging to the wicker wall above. Through the mosquito net the gecko appears
Sketched onto parchment, all messy and smudged, and the man reaches
up but cannot reach and blinks and it is gone.

He opens his mouth to breathe the Sumatran air
tasting salty like sweat oozing thick like honey
in between the manโ€™s teeth, around his tongue.
His cheeks are so filled with it he almost expects to choke but does not.

His thoughts skip as stones on a lake without ripples,
clenched anchors clutch the bunched damp sheets.
He fears a wind will soon lift him away yet the air is quiet.
In that silence the fear becomes an acceptance and the acceptance a longing.

Next to him lies a silhouette of sweat, of raindrops on paper.
A whisper of someone he once might have known, known completely
without hesitation and without doubt and without restraint.
As the sweat dries beside him the silhouette fades.

He has forgotten why the moon pulls at the ocean tides
or why the stars scream bright only to be swallowed by the yellowing blue of the sun
or why he wakes in the morning or falls to sleep at night.
He knows only that they do and that he does and there is no coincidence in that.

the virus is a portal

all the numbers we use to measure human behaviour
like gross domestic product, share prices and paychecks
are just ideas defined by other people to turn us into numbers

how can they be real when

hours of knee-bleeding toilet cleaning gets you

but men in suits can unilaterally create

instantly and out of nothing

you don't count hugs laughs or tears
maybe now we remember why