i lie on the surface
it is cold, it is lonely
the words in my mouth
taste like wine
i must have been a
poet who died at sea
i lie on the surface
it is warm, there you are
the words in my mouth
taste like water
do not mourn for me
when i sink

there is a pocket universe
in between our houses
as sturdy as a narra tree
there, girls get to be girls
and friends never go
there, a boyfriend isn’t
a death sentence
there, our garden is full
of begonias, chrysanthemums
there, we water them
and they grow

i think of her
the same way people think of
hunger balanced on their tongue
or when the thunder
perfectly timed, cracks open the sky
the soft vowels and slight curve
as i dust her off the shelf
put her back, limbs attached
stare at her forlornly without a care
i think of her
when the thought in my mind becomes heavy
as heavy as a lie
but there is nothing here
but space and backspace
the death of another poem

the rain is sweet to me
its cold touch a motherlike hug
my feet are unsteady and
they are likely to slip
but the rain pours over
fills my shoes with liquid courage
and makes them fly

summer swipes its tongue
across its teeth,
i am undone in its heat
its air a humming thing
reaching out,
i am undone in its heat
melting, dripping
my fingers fit in
its soft mouth
i am undone in its heat

the heat is a blanket
over my tiny body
i am waiting for your
cool touch, heaven eyes
the two of us from above
but do not care about them
i will make us a heaven here
i want to touch, to engulf
waters meeting shore
rain falling down
its water is enough to soothe,
to renew, breathe into the blue
until you are whole again
until then, heaven is just a thought