at the edge of my eyelashes
there is a panoramic view
of a zone that misses radar altogether
where once upon a time a young lover
with a handful of scented oil
kneaded and needed my body
on a blanket in a meadow
in a world that now gazes at me
ironically like a line of light
intersecting a shadow of a shadow

i see this zone that misses radar altogether
when i am standing on a bridge
and never getting to the other side
of the opposing directions
when a lover walks away
with a compass
that was made in Taiwan

bridges are always crowded
with many things: a thousand speeding cars
monks in saffron robes
a tunnel walkway full of claustrophobic karma
there’s a jagged fragrance and a jagged finger
pointing at the way i’ve come
and to the way i am always going
but have never reached

there are blue signals changing on the wind,
feelings more subtle than a handful of oil,
eyelashes more delicate than history

i’ve loved and left and never arrived
i’ve dodged cars and love and seductive shadows
left all familiar relations to the past
let the dead bury the dead…

my eyes follow that line of sight
that starts at the edge of my eyelashes
there is a bridge barely stretching
from one jagged end of the heart to the other;

a heart as empty as a sutra
that roams freely on a bridge
resigned to never getting

to the other side