The negative space between your world and mine,
which began as the year separating our births,
will inevitably end as a chasm.
Static pauses in your speech unsettle me
as we talk over the phone.
I wonder which words to use to express myself
while struggling to make sense of why speaking would help.
I have learned the closest communication occurs in gestures,
both musical and non.
As Coltrane kisses the atmosphere through space and time
and my car stereo,
I am reminded of the silent desert stillness
broken by the indeterminate drumming
of rapid repeating fire that does not fill my days.
I miss you prior to your actual absence.
Muti killings happen every day one thousand miles from here,
and children disappear
more often for less
much closer.
Currency is converted based on equations
and standards that always change,
while I speak no French and very little English.
Our memories betray history, and even my failures feel unique.
Somewhere, someone never met in this life,
feels isolation's painful a priori.
If countries fight like brothers,
then all will eventually be forgiven.
I wonder if land has sensory memory of a time
when things weren't so divided.
I do.