September 30, 2022 - Rahil Najafabadi’s “Passage”

Some days, I feel like a floating passage.
Time becomes the thing that hurts my feet,
and air is the silhouette that confirms,
I am simply here.

Gravity, the shin of my feet, and hours
of standing still. The walls crack as soon
as my existence ceases in rooms others
just like me, will fill.

We are passages of dizzy love, we clash––
And soon my feet cramp before I can take
another step. Where am I going without air?
I need more time.