Anitya: impermanence, a belief that to understand reality and relieve suffering one must accept that everything is in a constant state of change.
In a damp parking lot again, your bare arms touch mine.
You take me inside, give me your bed to sleep in.
I have a dream you are beside me. You, on the
couch in the next room.
My love, like melting dew or retreating tides. We have
changed. I am not nineteen in your red sweatshirt. You
are not asking me to move to Seattle. But, why do the
songs I sent you every day for five months still sing you
Where are we now?
Not the beaches or the Best Western or the parking lots, but now?
Please understand that I will never be that girl on the beach
again, but I will be me. And I have felt your breath drape along
my neck on Oregon mornings and traced kisses from your blue
eyes to your mouth that pressed permanently into my skin.
Rain turns to snow to ice to steam, but all is water. All
has been us. Us clasping and releasing. Us extending
then retreating. Us apart, but always feeling.
You telling me, I’ll see you again.