Prehistory

The bulb went out in the hallway,

leaving me to claw through the junk drawer

for something that could hold a light.

Under the menus and the dead batteries,

I found you in 1998.

You are leaning against a brick wall

I’ve never stood beside.

Your sneakers are white, scuffed at the toe

from a walk you took before I was a thought.

The chemical yellow of the film

has turned your eyes into strangers.

I am a ghost standing in your future,

holding a piece of paper

where you are still perfectly,

dangerously alone.