If you believe in chemistry, you’ve learned: brief beings
with golden thoughts arise from minerals.
I’m something from before, something you said in passing.
I don’t know you like this, in your own after.
The street corner looks the same, but I’m not here.
A green house, a blue house, a gray, a yellow. Our reliable memories.
Our impossible futures. I connect to you in thought.
Mine, then. Yours, now. I took a shorter path.
In some universe, we both exist. In some light,
we cast more than one shadow. You carry me back.
If you believe in alchemy, gold might fall into place
from simple elements on hand.