Nightcrawler
Your black eyes, black as the void that surrounds us, stare back at me, so black
they catch any trickle of light, the time on the radio, the table lamp, the crack
between curtains that let the day in prematurely. They are my eyes, creased
at the corners, the same South Asian crescent that one day should see us
home. We receive each other, how clouds accept rainbows, knowing you were
here all along and I just could not see you. Your lips spill milk words I cannot
understand and I wonder, does blood carry language? If so, tell me you speak
Urdu or Greek and I will try and meet you there. Let us attempt to hold on
to our ancestors before they forget about us, too. We can dance, alternate
steps, until we meet each other on the floor, until I can see your whole face
under the sun, surviving with the pain I shared with you in the pit of my
stomach. For now we will lie here, my face, moon-beamed, shadowy shapes
of black and white, moving aimless, forever, to the echo of your eyes.