Prelude: To the Islands I have Known

Originally published in Great Weather For Media’s anthology The Understanding between Foxes and Light and in an alternate form in A Collision of Soul in Midair

Prelude: To the Islands I have Known

An island can weep as intensely as any man
and wear a beard in the wrong places.

The color white is impossible, or at least soundless.
An island walked through this, weeping.

As the city of Philadelphia unfolded
into an origami fish in the rearview mirror,
the heart stayed where the blood is.

An island leaves a hole where it once was, 
dreaming of large things that could fall into it.
Blood is always either moving or not moving,
they call this the patience of the dead.

An island forgets to breathe sometimes,
you can hear this if you stand still for long enough.