The Lights

Jackson McCarthy (he/him)

Sitting by the water reminds me of you.

The lights, this morning, everybody

who loves to be alive. I think it’s only now

I love and miss you, your blonde sexuality,

the way you shaved or didn’t. I even miss

the dream I had, again and again,

the one where I left you,

and how I left you each night I dreamt it.

There’s a place in sleep where the lights

sign your name in gold —

I can feel your feet under the table,

nudging me back to myself.