i want to be the god of small things:
a tiny square of sky when dusk arrives
in its blue ashen cloak,
your purple-painted pinky finger
ready to swear,
the little inhale before i almost
say your name not knowing why,
my neighborhood's lost sanderling
who cries at night
because its home was bulldozed,
the place that is infinitely close
where a line barely touches your curve
at the point of tangency,
or even smaller,
like the non-area i occupy
in your heart,
soon a forgotten pixel of blue
🔹