by Stefania Heim

White sails cluttering
the horizon. Everything
bends. It is not strong

to not want. The sky is
kind and blue and hurts our eyes.
Where have we been

that we can still visit?
Past holiday, past Tuesday.
How do you feel?

Let us read our stars and
discredit them. Sit beside me
here. Write me letters.

Let us neither one go first.

A Table That Goes On For Miles

Last updated December 02, 2022