Pacific Rim

Chatter boxing with the waves
(for the first time)
at my feet,

or idly watching cable while
pushing candied chicken on
our plates,

I wonder why I only send you letters
when I’ve been drinking,
gin-kiss you on the cheek
when you’re about to leave.

I like the way I feel –
a lonely poet on a plane –
I am still young.
But I can’t walk alone.

My chest tightens as the towers
appear from the train
crawling out of the tunnel;
you and they just far away enough
to be beautiful.

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