i was throwing rocks
in my garden
when you finally caught up with me
(on the first Tuesday
in May) and you said
silence
i bled a little bit
red and blue on your shirt
my hands were cut
for those mountains I was lifting were sharp

it wasn't dark when
we hid from the world
and I pulled you down, June-eyes
the glow of the door light
beat out the beauty of the Wednesday sunset
shifting uncertain collarbones
and waste thin wrists and fingers
lips that dried in the hot air

like in July, we found
children playing as the tide came in
building monstrosities
(cobalt blue-bucketed) and
their mother Friday called them up
when the rain came down
you are the blue bucket and
i am the sea, always sucking
you away from the shore

you left me with a pile of rocks
a flashlight and a sand pail
in August darkness I could not illuminate
and told me to build my own sandcastle on Sunday