I see myself in the jade of the river Seine,
and by that I mean nothing morbid anymore. 

When you tell me there are bodies in the water
you mean not mine, just our lost reflections
wavering in the day heat, pickpocketing the sun.

By that grace I assure myself I’m cured,
and by that I mean give me a week or two,
and by that I mean I want a life of this:

living in the daylight, wandering.

Happiness is a tourist, I learn to be a good host, 
asking how many sugar cubes for her coffee.

I guard her from the rails, tuck her shadow neatly
into the folds of mine, let her stare into space
at the foreign tongue of my sadness’s relics
echoing from the catacombs below the sunshine. 

For her sake, I pretend I don’t believe 
thank you sounds a lot like mercy. 

I don’t let her know I’m tired of the word sang,
I’m tired of overdone metaphors,
I’m tired of industrial habits.

I’d rather watch time pull me backwards
into the future on the metro line,

so I think of tattooing a meaningless graffiti tag
onto my upper arm to keep a part of the city:

Manta. Rose. Gone. Love me,

explode like Roman candles burning into pale eyes.
Musicians spill into the street for this.

There are many people to search here for you within,
to pretend you’re leaving clues for me to follow.
Every breadcrumb magpies swallowed but every
indifferent expression could house a heart like yours.

I walk overtop the place where Diana died and no one
is weeping, no one is critiquing the routine.

And I don’t know what you’re coming back to earth as
so I am kind to everything. 

Smile at the soft tresses of the field trip babies,
nod at the men who’ve become walking cigarettes
with their head on fire like yours once was.

I’ll never be a smoker.

There are sirens playing when I’m trying to sleep
on the park bench, ambulances wailing but
they are not for me, and they were never for you.

The river unwinds in the background,
the unconnected thoughts pack their suitcases
and head towards the train. Joy lingers.

There is no point to this but to say I am healing.