on my morning walk to class

the condensation from last night

cools my ankles.

It reassures me to think that I may be the opposite of Achilles

if nothing else is protected,

at least my steps forward are.

while the world seems to,

like humans, generate more water in the night,

I find myself wanting to cry most often

during my time on treadmills-

looking out at stranger motion

from my one dimensional fishbowl.

Perhaps my sweat and tears are just my body’s attempts

to breathe.

a friend of mine spent two nights at the hospital

because of her pneumonia

now I look at the bruises on her hand

from needles made for mending

and feel the life drawn out of me.

I miss watching you create

your versions of people

with your paintbrush and your pages.

Reality to me was always more red than purple

but I’m thankful you love in lavender

that you think of me on days

that are aching for rain.

I think of you in moments of faith

not contrived Sunday mornings

but the Tuesday I sat

and looked at foreign memories

and the Wednesday

when the light fell in love

with the shadows on the quad.