He is looking away
he is looking at something
beyond you

as if doing so will erase regret
as if doing so will erase you

when he turns to you
he says I’m sorry
but what he means is
this was a mistake

when you turn to him
you say goodbye
but what you mean is
*I’m correcting my mistakes

I feel like I’m dying,
you said, and I wanted to say
you’ve been dead for years.
But you seemed so sad then,
the deep-seeded kind
of sadness with no real root,
and it must be harrowing,
I thought, to be mocked by a life
that so little resembled anything
you’d designed, to shrink
into the shadow of a life
that had begun without you.
And so I did not mention
how the light in your eyes
had waned and withered
or how you would always be
longing because you had nothing
to long for.  Instead, I said
you’re not alone*,
and hoped it was enough.

In those quiet moments
stolen between pockets
of swollen sunlight
you released me
from the darkest terrors
of my imagination.

The broken dreams of a broken man.

...

You told me once
that the heart’s greatest vulnerability
is memory.  I have known too well
how time can turn
a gray moment lilac.

...

In the biting breeze
of your departure
you left me
grasping at the handle
of a door that closed
too quickly.

One decision can decide a life.

...

After all this time
what I remember most is love,
etched into the deepest crevices
of my soul behind all the ways
I’ve learned to spell *loss.

and now the shade
        is creeping in

and now I can see
          that I loved you
      too late

and now there is no shelter
                                         in the feathers
          of your hummingbird hands

and now your words
              can no longer
                                       eliminate distance

and now despair
       is lashing
                                at the heel

and now I’m only reading
                                             shadow in the hollow
            pools of your eyes

That summer the sky was hedged in
by clouds, as if to stave off emptiness.  

When trees unfolded their fragrant bones
you were enveloped in the lavender
scent of solitude and you could not shed
the bitterest memories.

You learned truths
that seemed unkind:

the world is insincere
and you will never be beautiful.  
It is best to care for nothing.
To dream of lines and endings.

It was then that you noticed
the contradiction inherent in hinges,

how a door can blossom
and wither in the same breath.  
How it all depends
on the will of a hand.

In time you will see
that you wanted
everything too much.

You have asked too much
of this world.
But soon you will learn

that things appear most beautiful
when viewed from a distance,
and you will find no comfort

in illusions of closeness.
You will find that the reflection
in the window

clouds the promise
you expected to find
in some vaster field of sky.

The danger came
because you did not
expect it .

You thought it was over.  

But this was how
it always worked, how
you were always most vulnerable
in a state of security, how
you could not sense
the precariousness
of your position
until the tide was rushing
toward you, the salt pulsing
through the wound
that had only just
begun to heal.