I swear to god and I shouldn't say that because I believe in no god and should not admit to this anyway but you visited me last night not even in a dream your slim boyish body really there against mine hard and cool your boots on the floor your gold watch taken from your wrist and laid by the bed where it sits anyway since you sent it to me in the package with the note and the drawings of a dog we never owned and the t-shirt striped like a candy cane and the thing is some affairs just have to stay unfinished maybe it is to allow the possibility of a back-stitch in time a favour of visitation but there you were in the room and doing fine (even though I lost that tshirt) and you and me really it was nothing but I could smell your neck your curls against my nose and I suppose it will never be over will it if we don't let it be and maybe that is good it is there forever however small your hand in mine in the taxi and in the airport and I was better then – me crying and eating a Boost on the budget plane posing for a selfie against the moving sunrise and the double plastic window – the clear pins in it an admission of potential failure, weak spots – and in my fist the thin blankets and all of that everything else all of it tiny the island disappearing underneath me the big grey Atlantic until it was the big gray Atlantic and your eyelashes were very far away and I was all… gone.