The Futility of Epistolary Capnomancy

being B, my response to a certain A.


A:
i've always seen you as the city at night.

you are a revolution in a
moment--of headlight skies
and fervent fever passion.

i am variable as the
lights to shine
a steady way,
but i do stay.

too much that is here is
bygone, and i will always
be the cloud below yours.

i veil the impetus of
a spark to burn the
international city
down with memory.

i cannot be your echoing
cavern cohort, though
i will always ricochet.







B:

dear sir or madam--
you mistake smoke for a cloud.

streetlights reflecting
burning tenements and
bus stations

or
if you'd rather
wills o' thy wisp
or wisps of the will,
phantom highwaymen
leading intent to disarray.

i burn constant
but will not stay.

i am
(to mirror)
too much with the world---
always already gone
and always peripheral to gaze.

you have already burned nations, and
a veil, such ephemeral fabric,
takes readily to flame
leaving an unscarred subject
with a blaze reflected in her
quickly averted eyes.

you will not
but can not
be the cavern

you were filled in
long ago

i am already lost
in echoes and reflections,
hoping only that the voice
returning from the void
would cease to be my own.