Sandwiched
We picked up a sandwich
at a station a thousand miles from home
–no matter where that may be.
The hills spread, yellow and thin,
underneath our anger.
And just where the plains ended
a new pain began,
of sun, white, and winding stone.
At the top I found you
scoping the world with an ache
I never saw for me.
I looked towards your glance,
the looming towers and dusty grass,
sandwiched between your life
and another you’d rather live,
between the sky
and always somewhere else.
I wasn’t panting then,
running after you in every foreign tongue
we didn’t speak.
I traced your gaze
like I could never the nape of your neck:
it ended in the shadow of a bell tower,
and began somewhere
far far from me.
arch.memory 
wow. sometimes, ashraf, you really… wow. you push it right into the spinal cord. make the whole poet’s body react. it grows and grows and i feel what your saying because i can hardly keep up with it. i feel like… though i’m moving down the page, i’m pushing up and up something. i feel the mountain in this. stunning.
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