My imaginary plan
is to head to the East coast
in some sort of zig-zagging of endless possibilities.
We have both maybe imagined the waves
who lie off the shores of Big Sur,
or thought of mescal beans, teaching us things in the deserts
of South New Mexico.

We are big dreams of silence and fury.
Kisses beneath light blankets,
covered in cats, warm breath, and sleepy “I love you’s.”
Your Soul is bound to Vipissana and mine to the Moon
with deep breaths.
I am tempting the air to turn cold and cause snow and frost to breathe through me,
because it is too easy to blame regrets
on fear of death.
May our silences meet together from distances
even greater? May I love you in the fury of snowflakes
and lonely laughter,
snow angels in a canyon
with only the same Moon to look down upon us.

When we make it East,
may I tell you
how I have always loved you,
even from the start?