Ants carried cubes out the front door
piling into a cube truck
until I could see the living room floor
Everything moved and tucked
into my earthy living space
I packed you in envelops
put you away, but never to erase

I learned about the things you'd done
to keep our bread from molding
to replace a broken ladder rung
but you couldn't keep from folding
along the premade creases in your sheets
I couldn't stop you from holding
Five year plans separated by five day weeks

I woke up as someone I didn't recognize
belonging to the street lamps
instead of the summer sun rise

I fell asleep against computer screens
and hardcover books
Learned how the world never leens
to fit your perspective or new outlooks

I tried to place you in a cookie cutter
but you didn't fit the mold
so I let you spread and run like melted butter
along the creases, you naturally fold

I waited for you to stand on your own
then I learned about how being alone
doesn't feel like
icy hands in the morning
single cup coffee, crescent moons
or long car rides east in the afternoons

I could feel emptiness in your fumes
how the distance in our shared bed
made you wait for the darkness of new moons
So you could wander the sheets clearing your head
in the blanket of the night.

I thought you were searching for a light
to help guide you through
the galaxies between us
in our electric room

You pulled art we bought in markets
off the wall
You drifted in the reservoir, plunging under
to avoid my call
You took half the books
So I piled and stuffed my things in nooks
of the little room we moved into last July
we set up our first house
and knew it was a short-lived lie.