You can't close your heart down,
and then blame the rib cage.

conversations with paul are a one
way street, an play in a single act
between himself and a shadow (me):


in which Actor tells Actress he loves
her and then watches as her feet burn
holes into the stage and sink beneath
the floorboards, while he dons purple
prose and begins to blame your fire
for the forests he's burned with
his hot breaths and angry manuscripts

and the guilt he peddles is contagious
it wets through your layers to dillute
your kindness, your sorries, your innate
empathy for people in pain and when
he's not here, he's whetting his words
and staking them in your soft soil
in the middle of the night while
you lay unaware but dream
that a thief sweeps through
your garden and uproots
the best and most purposeful
foilage, unguarded even by
the moonlight because
such a thing could not
disguise a lack of a
a person.

I no longer turn dates
into occasions

from now on you'll be
just another day,
another month,
another year.

all the lights were out with the
exception of one orange creme
porch light weakly splayed through
the sliding glass door and it made
your face look like the purest
pastel I've ever seen in my life--
a-not-quite-brown but not-quite-yellow
and it moved across your lips when you
spoke, touched your tongue when you
paused and looked good on everyone on
the 1st floor of your parent's house
probably because i was delirious
and your dad had just driven 3 hours
in new years traffic to come pick us up
in downtown Seattle after your car took
its last breaths and we lost Joe as a friend for
the next
two years.


today
i finished the diary I started
on January 1st, 2014 at your
house before anyone was up
and I had fallen asleep in the
chunky gold necklace from
the night before, tucked into
the couch with my feet stuffed
beneath Brett's thighs, listening
to her voice--and Christina's and
Josh's and also my own startling
contributions in rhythmic breathing--
at some point you whispered that I was
sleeping (only half-true) because this
particular moment was insignificant
but happens to be one of the only things
i remember


that pastel color and making tea
the next morning wondering how
far away i'd be in ten seconds
and here I am,


here i am.