Today there is a day that exists, and you are there. I watch you slowly, my voice cracking, a faultline beneath the city your ears are silent blueprints of. I could focus on you there, my voice a seismograph of its own barren trembling. When I see with eyes open, you are gone. I don’t want to look. Without looking, visions. Eyes, letting in the light. Push them aside, make room for their own caves. The sun frozen, the sky dark white. I look up with eyes closed. My hands hold each other, both empty. My hands grow like vines off the cliffs of your voice. You call me to climb. I pull myself up, in.