THOUGHT OF THE RIGHT WORDS

when this particular picture dislodges itself from out of the spine of a novel that i have not read in years (but can still remember the scent of its dried ink and the brittleness of its paper).

it falls to a warm ground into fresh cut grass and it's a picture of a foot, a left foot to be exact (with a white crescent moon scar above the ball of the ankle).

there's something to be said about how quickly i recognized that it was your foot:

i do have, just to mention, hours and hours of intensive study, watched mosquito bites itched in the dark under white sheets and

the tracing of cool water surfaces with your big toe,

countless times.

there's certainly something to be said about how when i saw it fall i felt that i had to run out the door into the busy street,

into a sea of unfamiliar feet,

to look and look for you

everywhere.