1.

For every cardinal, a stone grounds it into bits.

For every star, a catastrophic burst of light.

For every earthquake, a prayer in what god hides in the empty space.

For every black cat, a clutter.

For every breath, mine.

For every stupor, clarity.

For every rush, a beginning.

2.

It was what I told Niyanta once. The sky, blotted in ink, more of an embrace than a cloak of unknown. This way, we can see the stars waltz, and

lips are so much easier to watch when washed in brake lights. At a stoplight,

your head tilts right. Two of many souls who found each other. If we turn here,

the road will stretch past the horizon. Such distance before the tires strip to tar and we mapped this landscape in your first week. But it is easier to watch you go.

Can you hear it?

It’s a jackhammer against concrete, beneath, a carcass of a doe. If you press your ear against my chest, I hope you can forgive me for my trespass,

studying the brown curls on the back of your

neck as you walk away from

me.

3.

A parade

of locusts leak from

my mouth

Fragments of sweetness

Like honey siphoned through

the stained plumage

of a

lark.

4.

I was grateful when we walked Sai across campus. The cinnamon whiskey, from Rashi’s generous pours, swished between my stomach linings.

Who were the bodies that shuffled through this building before us? The elevator

descends. Forgive me, I break everything I touch. Wouldn’t it be glorious, though? Million dollar equipment destroyed in a symphony of sound. There were words unsaid because I was too busy seeing. Tilt right. The goosebumps along your chin, the bloodshot of your eyes, the rafters where I thought physicists hung themselves. If we come back here, let’s bring some life. On his desk, a disorder of empty tea bottles and discarded wrappers. When we come back here, we can watch a laser rip a portal in the Earth. My hand inches towards an imaginary heat lamp.

A hand, in front of me, so easy to hold.

5.

A car stalls in the road & i wonder if you ever felt hunger enough to leave the words marooned in your mouth & there’s no remains to pick through just a heart that felt so beholden to your laughter bouncing from wall to wall

6.

We were always meant just to collide in some space that even language

can’t excavate. How unspeakably lucky. It’s in passing in beige halls, or the glimpse of blue that permeates your clothing. The city is as beautiful as I imagined it to be. The ivy browns against the ashlar. A fleet of yellow thrusts me forward. Somewhere, underneath an awning, cigarette smoke billows.

One day, you said, maybe it’ll all end.

The fissures return, like a dog to its shit, and swallow the city whole.

But the cataclysm never happened. The door bursts open. I walk behind and watch your hand brush your bald spot. The space is pristine. The coffee table, a picture where I don’t even recognize us.

Somewhere across the Boğaziçi, your parents commiserate as the tea goes

cold. A cormorant perches proudly. The only fault lines to trace with my thumb,

your crow’s feet.