Waking up
was more of a journey
than a destination.
Limbs so heavy
weighted down with
concrete
mixed with sugar.
I still feel them falling into themselves.
Have you picked up sand
washed over by the tide
and felt it flow into the air
in clumps seen only once,
and then forever again part
of the mess of shapes
that can’t quite decide
what form they need be today.
Seals broken,
something we don’t speak of.
I fear that it’s too late
to hold it inside ourselves again.
First,
Do you know what you did back then?
Why was it so hard to say it wasn’t worth it anymore?
Dorm rooms,
empty sheets.
I remember seeing you outside,
in your stone window box,
cigarette in hand,
talking and not seeing my approach
until I had already passed.
Your key around my throat.
I still keep it on my own stone box,
between books of pressed flowers
and dictionaries marked all over-
but the clasp has worn too thin.
I couldn’t wear it
even if I tried.