::11:14:07::

::: Julie 5/11 :::

Which burst right above me (I looked up, reeled backwards, the past rushing past) and still in the sunset, lit pink , lit yellow, was transformed. 

In our head lights the snow reflecting a live ocean, tumbling around the jetty, froth clouding vision, direction,

where I got coffee every day, every other day, the cloud of milk, the dregs, the ground, to be thought on

on the lens, in my eyes, in my throat (my voice hoarse calling J____,)
we turned and ran, turned and ran, waited, heaved, turned, ran and began to breathe

adrift in the fog, bobbling lightly, whose bells ringing signaled where I had been

he ducked into a door frame around the corner where Michael and another grabbed him and said, hey, over here

shouted "f*ck", grasping my shoulder, then came down, crashing, drunk,
on his cot, wine on the floor

where I locked the door and looking into the mirror, past it, at myself, flattened, I thought for whom or for what am I waiting?

my brother, my brother's friend Andy, that Indian girl, all of whom I loved and the cafe came alive with sound, booming, rumbling, where (when) she finally said "OK"

a small mouth, a light scum on his eyes, hair a thin slice of grey:  flecked with dust, he grabbed me and said "not now, the sirens calling; a year from now (but not moving to the country, something else) tomorrow, tonight, 'neath the blanket. 

Written by: ~ Patrick Seick