manifested presence
for Shloka
last night I dreamt we met in person and talked of all the mundane things that make a life, like where did I leave my phone (again), and how to choose a swimsuit, and, consulting with a friend, how the voles across the street are having triplets, and what a forgetful day I’d had I was exasperated and apologetic, and you said “maybe just not a very planned one” and you were right and I felt better, now (where did I leave my wallet?) and how beautiful the night was with people in the plaza, fires burning in rings folks gathering around them, floating voices scattered quietly like starlight dancing on the night air, and you joked how brave it was for you to visit Texas heat, you wore a lightweight cotton button-down shirt in white, sleeves rolled up to elbows, and a long, flowing skirt, an effortless picture of style and leisure and you laughed, but I agreed, so grateful you were there and grateful for nightfall’s respite, small relief, we walked and talked (looking for my wallet), considering sleeping fields of voles, tucked inside their holes, you asked me something about a poem, and I never found my answer, interrupted by all the sights and sounds around and the joy of our own laughter, talking of the things of life and all the sorts of lovely forgettable and memorable things that happen when two share company together in the reality of manifested presence


Hils 🥹♥️ although we’re not yet physically together…one day we will have the manifested presence your poem has immortalized. (Still searching for that wallet)