like a
w h i s p e r
I'm sinking
into my shoes
because my
footsteps are
deeper than
they look
my heels
burrow
into ocean
trenches
I am my
own fissure
bubbling between
the volcanic rock
an orange scar
at the edge of
the Nazca plate
I can't decide if
I want to close
my jaws or
reach for
the surface.

in the empty hallway where
the wood falls in line with my
heels and the sunbeams are warm
across the grain, full-steam into
my toes, that sink beneath the
floorboards and root into
the foundation where
plant muck takes
residence between
my veins, it's chilly
in this house but
most of me is still on
top and the dust bends
lights off the windows
is stained on the wall
and somewhere from
the kitchen the smell
of cider wraps around
my calves.

robert slept in the back
enveloped in fresh cigarette
with his green sweater hung
over his face and in the front
where we smelled like lotion
and pumpkin hand sanitizer
we tried the lullabies that
were soaked in old lovers
and you invited me over
for dinner, it's so easy
to say that God has
sent me no one
so even if you
do move back
to New York, I
will be able to say
that yes, I made a friend
all on my own and found
that it is so easy to laugh, that
I can be easy to love.

you were a
month for
healing, for
becoming
whole again

you're the first honest
thing I've had in a while
and I'm keeping myself
at bay because i've been
known to swim too fast
or never get cold, i'm
calling you Michigan
in my head because
I like the way it
comes off my
heart, my apologies
are real, I just don't know
how to act, I've gotten too
good at having tact, because
my silence goes up as walls and
I'm sure we could be friends, but

but

I've been known for swimming too
fast or never getting cold, never getting
cold, never getting

cold.