If we talk, back home
it is always in double meaning
Words flung in the air simply
to fill the gaps
flung up like discarded clothing,
sampling the air for a brighter consistency.
We miss more than the humidity
notices the starkness of each breath.
My blisters stain me with reality,
but today I walked bare foot.
The gulls circle the same piece
of ground, searching for answers.
My brother points them out
our new job is to watch them,
mould the sky like playdoh;
between the warm palms of our hands.
Heads back, body clammy in the sun
surveying the horizon for you.