in darkness we wade
into this shimmering orb
a crystallized common
ground beneath the palm trees
in this desert spanning the time
since I saw you last I lived in my car
when you went on vacation
and handed me the key to your home
for the week wood panels covering
your windows blocking light
I remember thinking I’ve lost
my sense of place like
sleeping through a daydream
staring at the ceiling
from your pond-sized bed
I could not wait
to leave the key
in the top drawer
of your dresser and
never see you again
because I didn’t
want to tell you
your home was more
like a prison at least when living
in a car there’s the
illusion of motion
with nowhere else to go
I find myself with you
now in this outdoor pool
swimming on its own
(originally published in Ariel Chart, Summer 2019)