There are these tacky blue Christmas lights I’ve hung in my room, around a pole. You can control how they glow, be it epilepsy-inducing flashes or otherwise. I have them set to glow constantly, and gradually fade to dark. It reminds me of the ocean lapping a shore, for some reason. Or watching somebody breathe in their sleep. Tides receding, chest rising. Blue lights fading on and off. I think of you in moments like these, when I notice those blue lights shifting in brightness. These are moments of pause, when my life lacks embellishment, or company, or movement.
And the book says, I hope you never have to think about anything as much as I think about you.
When, as you will, you leave me in the dust
someday, remember how I carved a heart
in the ice still whiting out half your rear
window, so when you looked back you’d recall
the heart I lost to you & you had left
behind, as you fought traffic down the road.
In point of fact, the heart you took in then
broke yours when it broke into tears that streaked
your vision of the distance you had come
from where I made the gesture you would find
etched on glass as if for good. My heart goes
with you, it said before it melted down
from its own heat as fast as my own words
give me the slip, black ice under my feet.