[On the cusp of moving to my next city, here’s a poem that originated in my previous city]

In the calm arch of your expression
My assurances dissipate like a rainbow in black and white
You point, touch, say, “Look, the bridge disappears into the fog.”
But, “It’s a pier,” and “Sometimes, things just end.”
I correct you and you stand corrected, lying down
This is the scenery of our lives
Always twenty minutes from where we want to be
Your East is my West while every thing between us heads south

You have the unquestionable toothy smile of a girl
That comes into play once, maybe twice, between breakfast and dinner prayers
You never miss a meal or extinguish a belief
No matter how half-baked it might be
Oh, no, the fault lies with me
I’m just an earthquake away from shattering your glass and peace
I’ll light up this town and take the smoke’s way out

Do you believe history can forgive what you cannot?
The greater good implies that even at your best you’re merely a lesser god
All your higher powers come up short
In this godless, heartless city cut off from the mainland
You pull, hold, say, “Wait, it’s a peninsula.”
But, “It’s an island,” just “Imperceptibly close to being attached.”
When I lose you, I’ll float for miles