and as I moan, regarding perfect little deaths
his voice makes me cringe
and I’m transported back into that late november night where you just held me.

god were you made for me
I’ve heard that too many times
am I just to be passed around
till I break in someone’s hands?
a china doll
no longer in use

there is such a difference between laying the cutlery out on the table for everyone to see
and putting it back in the box, dropping it outside, and writing a ‘free sign’ — laying it down, and letting it go

feels lighter
free

I hated the set anyways

Step by step,
no louder than breath—
I walk beside
what isn’t mine to name.

No banners,
no blueprints,
just this sound
of stone learning softness.

You open a window.
I keep the door unlatched.

Let fear finish its echo.
Let the dark chants drift.

Not all ruin is ending.
Some of it
is soil.

the azaleas
have yielded

to the peonies
heavy

with rain
they have

in turn
bowed

to the hydrangeas
who have next

nodded
to the magnolias

such a patient parade
such a sharing

of sight
and scent

she said
i am ready

for the end
of my life

i am prepared

i write about you all the time,
but i almost never keep it,
torn up or deleted,
or saved in some file to be
lost to the abyss of fracture
and finality, where i keep
all my other thoughts
of you.