the calendar year shattered and
spilled in splinters across
the floor, and we
were so broken by the
brokenness we very
nearly missed the
way breaking makes room
for new worlds
you are unlike anyone
i’ve ever allowed myself
to imagine,
unprecedented, and
i can’t quit wondering
whether our eyes would have
found each other in
the unbroken age
i’m drinking gin and
watching someone sigh and
set his story on the lamplit tile,
my god, the worlds we
carry, and i’m seeing you,
pupils dilated, and
i’m remembering how
addictive it is to be seen,
sober and chasing you
through subway stations,
i feel drunk and unafraid
of the hangover
sweep things free from
the coffee table, make some
room for your sweating
back, i want to watch you
in this moment, paint
your picture over
every old, broken plan
glass of wine at my lips
as the new world unfurls,
the here, now, the
everything, catching
light in wild fragments.
michael king 