Photos of a Thing Being Taken Apart by a Friend

A person uses the word “purpose” and I think about the order in which I touched you. The action and the result: this is the first intention, some thin thing – I want to remember but know there will be no reminder. All of this and you only learned some of my names, as far as I can tell.

In times of stillness one will use their way of being to avoid and some will use their way of being to search. We are certain ways in certain places. You don’t think of who else was here but what it was they made when they were. I want you to know I was here once. I want the world to know I was always here.

Please forgive me but the first time dreaming took place you were there and in the times since it has always been a different you present. When someone describes a first time there is so much sadness knowing there were other times too; the first time you waited for rain, nothing changed.

You describe the last light and then I put the fragile thing back together in secret. You carry the baby’s breath in your pocket and I consume the citrus whole and halved. You name nine moons and I look over your images. It is unclear which one of us will admit having nothing to give and nothing to take have never meant the same thing.