Falling up.
This is what’s written on my new sky-blue no-sleeve
the one with clouds on
what I’m wearing is an exact reflection
of what I (think I) am
constructing
and words type themselves
gradually
across my chest,
burn it on the left side,
and leave handmarks
your hands
were sent to me by email
open wide and blank
like the pages I would have written on your back
if you had stayed across me in the mornings,
pages inked with this purple pen
that left a bruise-colored stain
on the other side of my heart
when I left you leaving me I
was
falling
afar
now I am
falling up,
rising in a sunny vest
over the clearest double rainbow
a 50-year-old had ever seen
but how can things be
so clear?
white on white
ink on ink
that is
the clearest of things
Hiroshimem 