I’m telling you
This poem is science fiction
To keep you safe.
Not a word of trouble
About the “could have been”
Questions that get you killed.
But for a brief moment, we are
Imagining together. Reading.
What have I written?
We switch places like magic.
I become you.
You become me, briefly, returned
By the time it takes to finish.
Lips secretly moving
After work,before bed.
Or perhaps it’s a weekend.
Our states are questionable.
Encounters are funny.
Today, they are not lethal.
Honestly, I imagine you found me
Strictly by chance, more than choice.
In my tongue, you detect no rhyme.
In your tongue, this poem is not a crime.
I buried this poem on a page
Among words you seem destined to read
All of the way to the end.
I will mention great old ones and stars
No one objects to,
Except ghosts. Phi.
You will dismiss this,
And I will regret
This discussion, this fantasy,
This vague recollection of conflict
Can give you
No heroes
Except those you make
For yourself.
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