city of fog

you were walking home where your heart began but didn’t stay. you were walking home because no one was coming. hands in your pockets as if crescent moons,

stumbling, streetlight by streetlight in a city claimed by a milky white fog, which is to say

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you were inside your mind

again.

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you are here often

in the graveyard of everything you’ve

killed, everything that fell through

and how gorgeous

that nothing here belongs to no one else.

that in this fog, from a distance, the

architecture looks slender and true

as a fire-escape

arranged for and by

catastrophe

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you’re here often

where you forget the sounds for

your name. the way it tastes in your mouth in its exiled silence

soft and untimely.

where you know the price to enter a song

is to lose your way back

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so say it. say your name out loud. despite

the crack in your voice, despite

your voice. sing it

to prove everything that falls through

isn’t an endless tragedy, just

summer. that our lives are brief and

for a moment, death, life and everything in between

can be described through words and lived again

through decaying memories.

that your words in ink staining the pages

look like black bones of a mythical creature

fossilised on its way to touch the sky

that despite them being capable of disaster

they’re also what saved you from many

that when rain falls as ice only to touch your face

and changes to water

it is to remind you that you too can change

without disappearing

that when your mother calls you home

she wants you to know she’s finding her way back too

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remember

it was only yesterday that you flew

don’t be stunned by the falling now

for gravity is a funny thing

it only pulls those who believe in

love.