In the locker rooms the floor fills up to the ankles with water. Reflecting light around his face and his scar. I watch myself by seeing him glance at me: twenty-four by the poolside of our third home rental, 5 p.m. after reading David Means and that lightning story not knowing if there would be anything left between me and my family, if this house flooded too. I can almost smell smoked leaves and skin I could never undress myself from. I wonder if in that moment he looks past this pupil free form. Nothing from the start. I’ll see you tomorrow. All I can say with vision.
standalone poem