To the only self I have
I pick up that blurred image of you, the moment I was most lost in the cosmos. You had the same deep purple crop as me, standing with classmates in white shirts, shyly saying the ordinary things people say in ordinary life, introducing everything I already knew. Why did you film it? Did you already know that two men, a child, and a dog would find a machine that could play this tape? I can no longer find the mountain behind you. The waves behind you broke every white day into fragments. Behind me there is only night and stars.