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2005-12-18 - 12:01 a.m.

Translated names, tilting hats, years pass, sometimes sleeping under live oaks while a kite whirls in the clearing.

No thumb prints leave no memory of the events from the previous night, some curly Australian hair, a few peanuts, a couple French phrases.

An Acetyline Sky, even blues, making stranger hues so solid back into language that the world became frozen for a little while.

Over by a lantern that was full, eating dolmas, you spoke to me at length about the value of your room.

When you tried to describe it changing hour by the hour, the shadows it left, how the corners got bleak, I completely lost you because in all these years we've known each other, I've never seen your room.

Having never seen your room, I feel like we are friends in the way that only friends who have never given a tour of their rooms to anyone but their mothers can be friends.

I really really hope you get my drift.

 

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