Lakes and Highways

Three puffs of a cigarette make me feel like I am
part of the traffic down there. Below, a constant
creeping, ants marching –
one by one
then two by two.
Benches and grasses where I lost you, then
found you again, and there
the intersection where I ran and felt like we could
never be friends.

The sun sets in the west but it rises with the least
amount of notice; the audacity
a dare.

Threats for me to wake up.

Remembering what it felt like to dream.
I haven’t had a coffee today, or even a tea
lying here in my
honesty.
Living in my unsleep, undreaming
two sugars does not make it
sweeter to taste, nor smoother to
swallow.

Lake Ontario might actually be
hollow – a cup
for me to sip on, empty
a blanket with a hole
torn through

a life to live where I am me and
you are you.