I drew black squares on your skin to make sure everything was real.

I get the day going, writing quietly. The scratches. Where does ruined language want to go? About the transformation of the landscape and the white sky and the sea’s tints of grey. I listened with my lips, let my lips write faraway countries into your wrists.

When I said your name, all I heard was the quiet whisper through the sand. The sentence that fell from your mouth just now. When I said your name, all I heard was the quiet whisper through the sand.