In This Building

On the train, I read the words:
In This Building, on the side
Of a wall I will never reach, I
Know how time loves me,
My body learns signs, I
Keep quiet when a man kisses me–

Last night someone let hands
Hover over his throat: the departed
Waited until I arrived, said:
In this body, I left canaries, tell them
You know how to listen: tell them,
Time loves to kiss everyone
Goodbye. What are we building
In our bodies–temples, wounds, words–

A few birds flew near the window
Alongside the train. Sunshine’s dress
On my legs. I let a man pass
Over me once, he said You are the land
I visited in a dream. No, not me,
I said, I’m building a temple for the dead

And when I leave, you will remember me
Like one remembers wind, swallows
In your hair. Tender-pain, the world.

I have this idea, my hand said–
What I don’t touch, what is unreachable,
Marries me in sleep. I have this idea,
The drunk boy on the train, screaming,
Fuck my exgirlfriend, fuck that bitch,
I’m so drunk! I’m so drunk–
He’s ringing his pain, saying,
In this building, I have bruises–
A wound, a swallow caught
In my throat. Don’t touch me.


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