tell a story

I met a boy with cracked hands today,

he told me he didn't love himself

i told him he should sleep

he started to cry and i held his

cracked hand so carefully and

told him he should sleep

and then i drank a glass of water and

we walked for some time down

so many streets i lost count

and all my words and all my

steps and every breath became

one blur and one breath and

i remember it happening like

so many photographs taken,

these beautiful streaming

thirtieths of a second that

wash like headrush

and the silence between the

camera opening it's mouth

and closing it is gaping

infinity and prayer orgasm to

the vastness of

forever and echoing and

echoing and echoing and

echoing and

suddenly

before i can tell him i love him he

becomes dust and then

no dust and I'm left standing with

my shadow