now, there are only lightning flashes. rain. distant rumblings. i'd like to think that it's some kind of meteorological metaphor for something. a punishment or reminder of the things i should have done better. spent more time with. speaking on the phone. reciting the alphabet. memorizing the size and shape of your hands. in the dark.

when i last saw you there were lights in the city. and oh. oh. every now and then. i think about the way that life moves. the way words make sound. the sound the world makes. when we move in it. i am awake. alive with waking. and sometimes, when i look at your face. the world shifts and moves. the light grabs hold of the invisible spaces between. everything gets slanted. glows. breaks like waves and dishes do. in memories of lights in the city.

Sometimes it begins
Usually. Then there is nothing. Only the empty space where punctuation might be if this were the page. A pause. Some intentional murmuring. A moment to clear your head. Search for the light. Look without seeing. the switch.
Sometimes it begins
I don't know how to use a chainsaw
or maths
and I can't speak any Romance languages.