in your letters I could see your mouth was moving,
your voice was at the tip of my recall.
then, your ghost could only brush against my t-shirt,
now your body shows up to take it all.
and your movements, I could match before your maker;
I know them deep enough to paint them in the air.
Life is a liquid and I stretch far past its borders;
I have a feeling you’ll be waiting for me there.
"Surprise," by Sean Rowe