between us, only
a centimeter wide.
Didn’t used to be
there, this space.
We lay leglocked
in bed miles apart
now, this fissure.

In California, they talk
about the next big one
around the corner,
perpetually, and
before I moved
I had nightmares

of tsunamis consuming
the coast and then my bed
and woke up drenched
alone in darkness wondering
if my next one was around
the next year’s bend–

a lover to drown
beside, mouths lapping
seawater, tender word debris
we’d strain to hear or otherwise
imagine.

(originally published in The Seventh Quarry, Summer 2023)