Offing

And you, don’t mind me,

Making eye contact with the wing of the jet in the Iberian night,

Dissimilitude journeys ahead of an unknown, sitting in the dusky fog of the future.

You, who taught me how to see rain in the sky before it falls on your head.

Will you slip mint under my tongue in my memory forever?

I know the sea and the way it holds the moon as they cross paths, 

And how the ships inside them follow suit.

I know this the same way you know the mountain holds the sky, and they both withhold the secrets of the world, 

In whispers and in striations,

In breezes and in diamonds.

Within all of this, we know each other, 

And I wish to go on knowing, but within that silver filament called horizon.

There, we are permanent, sandwiched in the time before the sun rises,

Forever in the deepest Iberian night,

Growing smaller, wiser, compacting. 

In that infinite skyline we fold in on ourselves by our own gravity, 

With eyes that still tell of the sea holding the moon, 

The mountains holding the sky, 

And us, 

Holding each other, stratified in the world’s secrets. 

Don’t mind me anymore, unless it’s in the offing.