It's Christmas Eve in Queens

and you'd think it'd be louder than this

but no,

it's quiet

in the forest, hills, and gardens

*

Younger versions of us, of our eyes

and overhead a black sky

almost violet

liquid light shimmering and silent

*

This night, three and a half thousand nights from now

*

I'll remember the cold pressed against my chest

my eyes watering with white caps, not with tears

and not a single thing you might've said to me

to keep as a souvenir

*

I'm sure you stood there close to me

to block the chill with chivalry -

it didn't work, but I'm sure I lied.

Chivalry is a tricky thing

like memory -

*

that coin

tossed, pocketed, forgotten

for another night

for another life

*

It was welcome,

the cold, the quiet, the light

the supernovas swimming overlarge in my eyes

the mirage, the illusion - it felt alive

I hardly remember you, but I felt alive

with all that light pouring out for us.

*

But quiet now,

let's turn our backs

against the wind

and against our older selves

looking in