The driver breathes into the sky.
His breath disappears into twilight.
After the car vanished from sight.
When the last ripples had died away.
He was left to sit and ponder his life.
On a bench by the river,
Clothes soaking wet.
One life pulled from the depths.
Another lost beneath.
Still your mind.
None of that was real.
Neither his wet clothing nor his presence on the bench.
Neither his clothing nor his presence.
Neither him nor I.
We are not.
Are you real?
Do you sit or do you stand?
Does the air move in and out of your lungs?
Do you seek to escape and find a new home far away?
If you …
If I …
If we were to meet and fuse – our particles becoming exotic fields of quarks and quirk. If we were to combine in a bubble and fizz of chemical interaction. If one and one were to become the square root of nine and we were equal to that challenge.
But there are worlds and words with no place for us.
This is as far as we get.
As far as we go.
Go slow as you walk away from me.
Take all you can bear to carry.
Take the heart and the part of me that belongs to you truly.
Stretch the moment.
Leave my eyes.
So what chance do we have?
Now that we are