I am thinking about
winter with you:
winter with you:
film faded in the sun,
photographing grain
in the palm of a sweatshirt sleeve,
photographing grain
in the palm of a sweatshirt sleeve,
fog’s descent,
through the city's
parts we have
seen together, already,
in a different light
(like a picture I hadn't seen before
that you showed me once, of a scene
already familiar
to Delhi and me,
which is partly what I liked about it)
and the quiet city fits in your palm
on a morning when fog has made it small
and you even smaller inside it
and shorter days and
longer nights, while we
stay awake for the same
amount of time, and
there is something
more intimate
about darkness, anyway
(like the guessable,
unreadable secrecy
of photographs with not enough light)
everything I have just described
is exactly like every other
winter I've ever known
except for you
which is what
makes it entirely different
(April film)
