i want to show you how tiny flecks of snow
that have now started to land, very slowly,
melt very fast - tell you
what i learnt about the three types of snowflakes.
the ranges of impermanence
the types of melt,
in northern winters.
the frost on white-bearded autumn leaves,
that you told me were all
dead explicitly
in your language
how knuckles get chafed
by just being exposed in this temperature
i want to tell you where i’ve been and what was exciting
and who i’ve met
not in a formalized communicative transaction
but in pedestrian and boring passing speech
where the importance of
each nugget of communication
is not like blooming flowers
but indifferent, and stable
like grass
i want to tell you the lines that
gave me pause, and read them to you
many times over and over again
as if just your hearing them,
would make them doubly meaningful
i want to detail the contours of your life
that i only know against the light of time
or is it the darkness
examine
the broken parts of your memories
placing them on cotton sheet gently
and eventually on a glass slide
and also to be able to explain sadness
that isn’t a segue into intimacy
or it is now explicitly so
but i know we are trying to prop