Kylan Knowler


you arrive in a city where you have reason
to believe your other self has relocated

you do not rush things, you settle in, buy a place,
dream up hobbies you have passing interest in,
deliberate at market over strains of water apple

your voice escapes you here as vapour, and you find it
hard to breathe in this world above water, the sense
you are not who you were, or who would have been

you can wait, you decide          can watch thunder leave
hazel footprints on the lake          soon, that other you
will rush by, misted coat leafed high above their hair

and as they reach the café and you hold the door wide
they meet your gaze: a gaze with you, shook, inside it

                 the longer this takes to happen, the better
you have come to like it here, and can empathize
with their choice of space, the streets like brooks

and in the inner city when you do cross paths,
perhaps pulling them into the fountain at the square
they will be too stunned to notice as you take

back your lungs, until they gaze up from below
at your surfacing          at your drinking the air