I. Vilnius / destination
a black grape hovers in the face of heavenly darkness before falling back down towards the streets of the capital straight into your wide open mouth like a warm trap. my eyes don’t follow the descent but I join the applause of our new-found friends nonetheless, my admiration for your countless talents is habit by now. where few seconds ago the fruit wrestled with the stars a brief streak of light catches my attention too quick for me to even tell the others. the shooting star nourishes my suspicion that moons are suns are looking for each other
in a celestial soap opera
II. Thuringia / origin
of inescapable gravity
I got to know you so well
a friendship wrought tightly
into an intimate distance so common
between young men who call one
another bro and never stay serious
about each other, because.
because.
from remote proximity
I observed how you wrapped around her
as if she were it all; entangle and dis-
entangle and re-entangle and
III. Warsaw / departure
all I could do was watch and listen
to cry-whispered arguments
escalating quickly and me pretending
to be asleep in the same room
………until the balcony scene
……………………this time
……………………………….a suggestive chair
……………………………….loomed near the balustrade
……………………as usual
……………………………….no happy ending, no tidy
…………………………………………resolution
………………………………………even though
…………………………………………………no one poisoned
………………………………………………………themselves that day
…………………………………………or fell over the edge
the two of you one moon and one sun
falling into one another, but only one collapsed
while I prepared to catch
a moon like a grape
IV. Back row / journey
myself. the bus East so crammed
brought us almost as close as I would have
…………………….wished we were — had I wished at all
we hit the road;
maybe by inviting you to come along
I ended your fatal
dance of lovers doomed
by their tragic romance –
a tired motif, exhausted as were you
when you fell asleep beside me
faltering so close yet not as close as I would have
…………………….wished we were — had I wished at all
we were going somewhere
on a dreamless journey
only one of us in motion
with my own eyes in bright
daylight, I began to
understand
the sky
I texted your mother in secret
your son is the strongest man I ever
my words poured out
and fell right back
into me, broke me
made me see
what I felt for you had never been
mere platonic compassion
suns can be moons
……………………………………………..(
…………..and I should have wished
for more of you. ………)
V. Coda in an Ayrshire backyard
the two of us float aimlessly
through chlorine and the dark
high and happy-ish
in this rectangular cauldron
our toes peaking through foam
I wonder what it would be like
in the light of a sun that is not you
our heels bump by accident and
drift apart with resolution
then and there
in the weightlessness of this night
I accept that your light
will never shine on me
this way
Photo credit: Hannah R. Link
Martin Breul lives and writes in Montréal (Tiohtiá:ke), where he pursues a PhD in literature at McGill. His poems, flash fiction, and reviews have appeared in print and online in Acta Victoriana, periodicities, Variety Pack, and more. In 2023, Cactus Press published Martin’s debut chapbook, love poems suck. Twitter/X: @BreulMartin
