myself. And today, I keep meeting new selves—
an improved fleet of ferries traveling the same waterways
but glittering and dressed in this season’s traveling clothes.
I’ve conjured my life with imaginative acts, in accidents
of possibility. In the pleasure of a piece of music or through
the shared midnight breeze by a picture window.
Dangerous beginnings now intrigue me with what ifs
and maybe whens. The spectral of desire encrypted in a flock
of texts, in a telephone message; and private radio shows.
What is longing made from? How long might it last?
In romcoms the narrative usually ends prettily—
We hover the cursor by happily ever after,
never hint at the shorelines where lust will pass.
