Epektasis

We arrived
carrying time like a folded paper icon,
creased at the corners
by belief.

Four nights—
a small arithmetic
of certainty,
arrival and departure
stapled together

as if the sky
had agreed
to be reasonable.

The earth spoke first.

Black ice—
the quietest refusal—
a clear syllable
under the wheels.

Metal birds
lowered their heads.

Dates loosened.
Berlin did not check
what we’d booked.

The word stranded
sounded theatrical

until it entered the body,
until cold taught it
where to settle.

Seven nights, not four.
The city widening—
space appearing
where plans had been.

Stations of glass
murmured.

Trams stitched sparks
into air so brittle
it rang.

Above us:
a lid of gray tin
pressed down

on every sentence
left unfinished.

I had planned
to guide you,
my companion of years,
with the authority of maps:

Here is meaning.
There is history.
Follow me.

I wanted the city
to comply.

You worried first.
A call to work—
your thumb circling the screen,
your face turned slightly away
as if weather listened.

Then permission.
A release.

You laughed—
short, incredulous—
said we’d manage.

You found the jokes
before I did.

You do not expect messages
from weather.
You do not treat delay
as a summons.

A shrug.
Mulled wine ordered
like someone practiced
in contingency.

Still, the city.

Wind correcting our posture
in Alexanderplatz.
Cold beers
warm enough to matter.

Inside stations:
light,
temporary.

Outside: the river
dark, withheld,
unmoved.

People passing—
wrapped in wool,
in waiting—

each carrying
a private postponement,
each negotiating quietly
with whatever governs
delay.

One night
forgiven.

After that:
paid.

Money slipping
its tether to reason.

Forms ahead—
armed with phrases
like act of God,

as if naming the hand
softens
the fall.

No one said which god.
No one said
why it should.

I told myself
this was will—

that flight answers
to something older
than engines,
older than apology.

I said it
carefully.

It did not answer.

The bruise remained:
a lever pulled
mid-motion,

and then—
nothing.

Later, without notice,
the knot easing.

Not solved.
Eased.

Mornings
without destination.

Streets walked
only for their length.

Mistakes
learning laughter.

Warmth noticed
because cold
refused to stop.

Berlin held us.
Longer than planned.

Ice underfoot.
Time creased again—

not unfolded.

We stood there,
still,

long enough to learn
what standing costs.