Esmé A. Wright

There are times like last night where my feet are wrought in bedclothes and my eyes are burning with tears and there is no line between. All is the same all is one- Mental/Physical/Pain/Hurt/Happy. 

We’re the metal spikes on ceilings and broken glass on floors and everything is pushing in closer. One terrible word at a time. 

We do good work when we can and we work with each other when we can. There are the spaces between people that I don’t think ever meld. Or rarely do. And when they can we call it love?  

There was a moment in the shower where I couldn’t stand and I laid on my back becoming water. 

Becoming Lake Michigan on an October afternoon in rain and soft blue hues. There were boats bobbing and a seagull trying to steal what he could. People gawking at a boat sunk by accident too close to shore. Its mast twisted and bent, wires spilling out. Manmade vines. Connections not connecting.

Becoming the Pacific crashing on a beach on Christmas Day in 2011. My feet buried in sand, eyes with tears. Me being it, it being me. Sameness and Sadness. A happiness in that melancholy. 

My Diego:

Mirror of the night

Your eyes green swords inside my flesh. waves between our hands.

All of you in a space full of sounds — in the shade and in the light. You were called AUXOCHROME the one who captures color. I CHROMOPHORE — the one who gives color.

You are all the combinations of numbers. life. My wish is to understand lines form shades movement. You fulfill and I receive. Your word travels the entirety of space and reaches my cells which are my stars then goes to yours which are my light.

Quai de Bourbon 

in July. 

I promise to be true and brave.