the first cold night in minneapolis and we watched the night city from up, up on a windy lifeguard chair. a fading full moon sinking in and out of clouds. a big blue blanket. bare feet. hair blown to my face. the tap, tap of the water on the shore.
everything is clearer high in an oversized lawn chair stuck in the sand. but maybe i’m mistaking quiet for clarity. maybe i’m mistaking friendship for love or honesty for apology or maybe blue isn’t really blue when you hold it up to a street lamp.
we played that game, “if you were on that plane, where would you be headed?” we played that game where you close yr eyes and extend yr arms straight out grasping the blanket — an instant homemade sail. we pretended the circle drawn in the sand was a helicopter landing pad and the brightest star a headlight. we forgot our phones were buzzing in our pockets. it’s precious territory.
"they’ll fight for your neutral walls and plasticities / and precious territory, and precious territory, and precious territory”