You tell me you weren’t alive three days ago,
that you’ve learned to become unborn.
I want to ask you
how you did it – how you
made yourself clean again,
how you erased the ink smudge
from your right hand,
how I never could.
The literal meaning of Utopia is Nowhere.
You told me if I wanted to get there
I’d have to shed my stories.
I once tried to follow you,
but your lantern didn’t give off enough light
for the both of us
and I never washed that ink smudge from my hand,
never even tried.