Echolocation and Negroni
Echolocation
I remember time before the walls watched
us with pity in the interval between
casting our voices into this illusion
and the echo returning to confirm
that we’re lost. I’m afraid to ask
for directions when being with you
feels more like being alone,
the returning ripples growing weaker
each time we reach out for something
that isn’t a distorted ricochet
of what once was. It’s impossible to navigate
the silence and its meanings with senses
deprived like light groping
for a surface to touch so it can throw
a shadow that reminds it
what it loves about itself.
Negroni
1 generous oz of sweet vermouth
1 conservative oz of bitter aperitif
1 oz gin
a dash of orange, ginger, and Angostura bitters
orange twist and maraschino cherries for garnish
The colours of fall leaves tickle
the tonsils—the beauty inherent
in tiredness. Shadows linger
and contort themselves like the last note
of a song. Time leans against the wind
and lets itself stagger, knowing
even its mortality is inescapable,
its bittersweet decay written in constellation.