Silk / 一絲

June 14, 2020

When day falls dirty into palms
I dream of you
at the overhang of sky,
old sun tangled in my hair.

My exhale cocoons in the window.
I confess to the candle
alight at your shoulder.

Between language I can’t and language you don’t
how do we

I come to a still body of water by the way,
watch the words
unravel into threads:

you might have said goodnight.

Just before sleep I hear you
—rattling—against the ends;
my tongue will not surface.

Text by Jasmine Gui
Images by Lucy Lu | | @lucyluphoto