There’s no room for me anywhere,
I’m cut off from the rest of the world.
I stand in that room we never had,
with your voice, your lips, your arms,
the room of what is not,
but should have been,
the room of years that piled invisibly
and the child who hasn’t been born.
I see deserts in the sky, burning blue,
and the wind whispers to leave everything here,
everything that touched me, everything
that shocked me, You —
so instead of going to heaven,
I stay here, saying my prayer wrong,
all along, the sky can go fuck itself.

Yet what I wanted seemed so simple.
A foreign country, a language not mine,
the most ordinary days, experiencing
a new kind of belonging, you within,
you within — That room must have
existed somewhere, like an island,
with soft walls of sunlight and desire.
Of all my memories, this is the one
beyond oblivion, the one that never fades.
Neither the sea, in which I believe,
nor the horses, that will take me away,
can separate me from that flash.
To the sky I do no reverence,
I would leave everything here, cities,
friends, starlings from the gardens,
but not you, not you —

I stay here, saying my prayer wrong,
all along, with a pair of broken shoes
and a few poems. I stay here when
the wind asks “Who’d be the fool to stay ?”
hoping you would find that room,
hoping for the sky to lose.