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.