I open the kitchen window
and lean outside into the clouds,
closing my eyes
as the sun becomes liquid,
extending my arms and fingertips
to catch the wind.
The way the cold rolls over me,
I’m taken back to Anegada
and the crisp of the islands breath as we ran
with airplane arms away from all our responsibilities.
We hadn’t known why we were running
or to where.
We just moved with the quality of convection currents,
absorbing the light from hurricane lamps
that hung in the neighboring trees.
running is the closest thing to time travel
that I may ever experience in my lifetime—
somehow, I become younger than I am,
younger than I was.