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I would tell you
that you
are not alone
and reference
two bodies tied
to each other
in space,
as if
there wasn’t remoteness,
and passing
souls in motion
toward decay
to save you
from the pain,
but each of us
from birth
has this horror:
a loneliness
and strafe
from being
born into this,
that we cripple
under it’s weight.

The blonde
walking unachievable
beyond window
or reach,
or the syllables
to say
with ease
what one would want
to get across
translation’s cost.

we grasp
for each other
like computers
suddenly self aware
with such different code
that translation
might never be a thing.

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