Tinctures, 13km North of Turtle Bay
a poem
Idling in the sun / in a limbo between who I am and who to be / all the skies in the world are starting to look like one / At which point does distance become closeness / dots become a motif / coughs become language / strangers become soulmates / living become alive / A mother is collecting sea shells on the beach / As I watch her from the shades of a tall tree in the warm breeze / you visit in a fuzzy thought since which I have not been the same / Electrical impulses at first / audible only to oneself / until you hear them too / through a gaze with your whole heart in your eyes / So much wells up yet only silence we hear / Silence cascades into more silence / until silence fills up silence and in whatever silence becomes / there is nakedness / Fearing the exhale of time / I blink to remember / like some kind of etching on a vinyl to become a melody / except it doesn't play / and now memories become secrets on the beach pocketed by the waves / They evaporate / atom and molecule / into thickening clouds that have too much to hold / Then it begins to drizzle / handing back little moments to us / enough to stain your shirt but too fleeting to relive / After you leave / it finally pours / Alone, I listen to everything / everything that is fated to become everything else / — all that I couldn’t know, yet may be.
12/6/2023
Hua Hin, Thailand