ELEGY (i.)

i’m told that if you
fold a piece of paper in half 42 times,

the result is long enough
to reach the moon. somewhere

you hover between 33 & 34 folds.
i pleat the first crease.

you enfold me in your arms
divided by the delicate murmur of

electricity & hushed breaths.
the city unfolds

from daylight to dusk.
a car whizzes by.

we never speak of this moment.
i seal the fourth crease.

we are engulfed by the gentle
hiss of the radiator,

the muted hum of the TV screen. you reach for the
power button. i grab your hand.

after seven creases
the paper is too thick to fold further.

i unravel it & see a boy tango
with the space between static & saltwater.

in the margins, i scribble your name —
Luka. Luka. Luka.

the bridge unwinds into music
& then nothing. the car

whizzes by & the city unfolds
from gentle whispers to muted static

& you reach for the power button
but no one grabs your hand. if i were to

fold this into an airplane &
throw it off the Golden Gate,

i wonder how far it would fly.

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