Leaving

9 • 10 • 18  taipei, taiwan

clamshells in the back of the room
whisper out stories of remembered waves.
feel your footprints
as they walk away from you.
I found a bench where I can sit
a triangle in the clouds
imprinted with little shoes and little hands
are any of these words mine?

the idea of contained energy
runs up and down
my thumb
I don’t have anything I have to be.
can I become with you?

today I feel big
my eyes want wide brushstrokes
to comb over small details
delicate edges
bold lines
how many times have I told you
to not sit so long in the sun?

is the sky overrated
so much space
so little to see?
dust fills all of its corners

how many miles does water fall
before it realizes it’s leaving?